


City of Angels (But the Devil Gets His Due)

by WhiteIronWolf (adoctoraday)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Sex, Facial Shaving, Frottage, Graduate student Tony Stark, Gun Violence, Haircuts, Homophobic Language, Howard Stark is an asshole, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hydra (Marvel), Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Maria Stark's Good Parenting, Most avengers and SHIELD characters listed are minor supporting characters, Mutual Masturbation, Obadiah Stane is a bastard, Psychological Torture, Recreational Drug Use, SHIELD, Serious Injuries, Torture, White Wolf Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, mob boss James Barnes, safe sex, universe typical violence, use a condom kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoctoraday/pseuds/WhiteIronWolf
Summary: Tony Stark is a prince of the Upper East Side, a shining angel of high society, a Stark.James Barnes is an assassin, a murderer, a monster, a soldier.When Tony’s parents are killed and he begins receiving information that it wasn’t an accident after all, he knows there’s only one person he can go to.They are men of iron, and the blood on their hands doesn’t wash off so easily.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 188
Kudos: 461





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally going to be one shots on tumblr and then it got out of control and here we are 43k words later lol in this fic Bucky goes by James, he does not have a metal arm (you’ll see something else take its place, and hopefully enjoy the symbolism!), and Tony is a grad student pursuing his PhDs. While not overly graphic in detail, the violence is real and typical to a story about the mob/gangs etc. If you think I missed a tag, just let me know (politely) in the comments! 
> 
> Finally, HUGE shoutout to my girl Riot for reading this and encouraging me when I was bemoaning the fact that it just kept getting longer lol this story as is wouldn’t exist without her cheerleading and you should all take a minute to appreciate her!! 
> 
> Ok, go forth and read, and hopefully enjoy!!

Tony is  _ late _ . 

_ He _ knows it, Happy, his disgruntled bodyguard and driver knows it, hell it seems like all of  _ Manhattan _ knows it and is going out of its way to keep him from getting where he needs to be. 

His backpack is slung on the seat across from him as he wrestles out of his jeans and hoodie and into the suit Happy had helpfully brought along, cursing as the hoodie gets caught painfully on his ear for a moment before popping free. 

Horns honk ahead of and behind them and when he glances out the window he groans—they’ve barely gone three blocks in the last ten minutes. His mom is gonna  _ kill him _ if he’s not there for Howard’s speech.

He has a moment where, as he pulls his trousers on, he thinks  _ fuck Howard  _ and  _ maybe I’ll just go to that party Lena told me about,  _ but he can too easily picture the hurt and disappointment in his mother’s eyes if he doesn’t show up and if there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s hurting her. 

So he sighs and shakes his head and knots his tie in a sloppy Windsor knot and as he’s finishing tying his loafers, they arrive. He forgoes bringing his backpack and instead pockets the prototype phone he’d created and gives his hair one last finger comb before stepping out of the town car and painting on a smile for the paparazzi.

They shout his name and too many bright lights flicker in his vision but he’s used to it; he’s been doing this since he was four and built his first circuit board and Howard had invited the press to take photos of him while he took all the credit for Tony’s genius. 

So to say that he can navigate flash blindness with ease is an understatement. 

Not much has changed since then. 

Well, Tony doesn’t share his inventions with his father anymore—he’d learned the hard way that he’d never get credit when he’d created a bunker busting bomb that would destroy whatever it hit by acting much in the same way the implosion of a dying star would. 

Implosion, not explosion. 

Less debris, less civilian casualties. 

It had ensured another decade of contracts with the Pentagon and had gained Tony entry at 14 years old to MIT. After that he had gotten masters in both physics and engineering before moving on to his PhD in physics. He’s still working on his mechanical and electrical engineering PhD—taking too long for all his supposed genius, according to Howard. 

When he finally makes it inside, he’s met with a crush of high society decked out in their finest silks and jewels, here to eat rubber chicken at $500 a plate and donate money for the charity dujour this month. 

He smiles politely and slides right on through the crowd, pausing when one of his father’s competitors grabs his elbow in a too tight grasp. Ty Stone is young and blonde and good looking, but after the Christmas Incident of 2016 Tony is wary of being alone in dark corners with the man. 

Ty slings an arm around his shoulders and Tony tenses, polite smile going brittle on his face. 

“Tony, it’s  _ so _ good to see you! We were worried you weren’t going to make it,” Ty says in a voice that’s just a little too loud. Tony can smell the whiskey on him, mingling sickly with his Gucci cologne and he fights the urge to gag, recalling the intense smell of it in the back of his throat when Ty had—

“Who’s  _ we _ ?” Tony asks, cutting off that dark train of thought.

Ty waves and Tony does curse this time, barely audibly as Justin Hammer swaggers over, face tinged orange from too much self tanner and once again Tony wonders how someone with so much money could be  _ so  _ bad at spending it. 

Justin cozies up on Tony’s left, hemming him in and Tony has to suck in a slow breath to keep from panicking. He  _ hates  _ feeling trapped, and he especially hates these two men for making him feel weak and hunted, like an animal. 

“Tony! So glad you made it! Ty and I were just discussing how fun the after party at his place is going to be!” 

“You should come, have a drink with us.” Hammer winks and leans in to breathe the words hotly into his ear and Tony shudders in disgust. If Ty is the proverbial snake in the garden, Justin is the slime that’s left behind when it slithers away. 

He works up a smile that’s half polite and grits his teeth, “No thank you, I have work on my PhD to do,” he says, trying to slip out of Ty’s too tight grip, fighting a wince when the hand on his shoulder tightens. 

Ty and Justin try to cajole him but he mouths nonsense placations while searching the room for an escape route, sweat coating the back of his neck while his nausea grows with each second he’s stuck between these two. 

“C’mon Tony, we’d have a lot of fun together,” Justin whines at him, “you like to have fun don’t you? Ty says you’re up for  _ anything, _ ” he whispers, voice low and suggestive and that’s just about enough of  _ that _ Tony decides. 

He waves a hand to Janet Van Dyne and Hank Pym and gratefully allows himself to be pulled away from the two leeches stuck to his sides. He spends a good twenty minutes talking particle acceleration and quantum physics with the couple before his mother finds him, her smile polite as she scolds him gently and ushers him away.

“Honestly dear, I know you’re busy with classes but can’t you  _ try _ and be here on time?” she asks with a soft sigh, reaching up to straighten out his wayward mop of hair. 

Tony flushes with guilt and shrugs, looking up at her through his lashes with a chagrined smile, “I’m sorry, I was mostly on time and then got held up by Ty and Justin,” he tells her softly. She goes perfectly still for a moment, gaze cutting across the room to where the two men stand together, drinking and laughing too loudly. 

Her eyes harden and her lips mueu with disgust, “Yes, well, I’ll have to have a word with Pepper about their invitations being lost to future events,” she says, jaw tight for a moment before she looks back to him and softens, eyes feathering around the edges as she smiles at him. 

She’s so beautiful he thinks—still young and kind despite the years she’s spent married to a monster like Howard. Her makeup is flawless—and not because she’s hiding bruises—unlike many of the society matrons floating about with too much makeup and not enough clothing. 

She caresses his cheek with her knuckles and sighs faintly, eyes sad and soft, “If only he could see what I do,” she murmurs and though she doesn’t say it, they both know who she means. 

She was the only one who was on his side after the Incident with Ty. Howard had called him a faggot and backhanded him into the brick fireplace before muttering something about needing a  _ real  _ son and wandering off to get drunk(er). 

His mother had wiped the blood from his face and called a doctor to make sure his  _ other _ hurts were treated, staying to hold his hand the whole time. 

Hate Howard as much as he does, he’s perversely grateful that his mother married the bastard and had him—he grabs her hand and lifts it to brush a kiss over her knuckles, smiling when it makes her eyes sparkle. 

She lifts a brow, “Care to give this old woman a turn around the dance floor?” she asks teasingly and he nods, grinning as he tucks her hand over his arm and bows, extending his arm out in playful mockery. 

Tutting, she tweaks his ear, “Impertinent boy,” she murmurs laughingly, and Tony grins, buoyed by her playful attitude. She lets him guide her out onto the dance floor and a moment later Frank Sinatra starts crooning and Tony grins, leading her easily around the parquet. 

By the time they’ve danced out three songs he can see her fading a little and wonders at it—normally if she can get him onto the dance floor they don’t leave till the party ends. 

Her lips quiver into a shaky smile as he guides her to the bar for a glass of water, hand on her back keeping her steady and he’s troubled to feel her shaking like a leaf under his hand. 

Some society matrons crowd in, cooing at his mother with cutting words and backhanded compliments and he feels her spine grow taut and sees her smile grow thinner with each moment that passes. 

When they fade away he slides an arm around his mother’s waist and gives her his side to lean into—an act of kindness she accepts with a small tired smile.

There’s some commotion in the distance, the crowd murmuring as a trio of men enter the grand hall and Tony leans up a little to peer at them, frowning when he doesn’t recognize them. Usually he knows everyone at these things, but whoever these men are, the looks on people’s faces tells him they are unwanted guests. 

His mother sighs and shakes her head, “I can’t  _ believe  _ security allowed that man in,” she murmurs, voice laced with distaste. 

“Who is he?” Tony asks as he cranes to try and catch a proper glimpse of the man’s face. 

“He’s James Barnes, the leader of the White Wolf Security Group.”

His father’s voice cuts in, sharp and mocking and when Tony looks up at him he’s unsurprised to see the gleam of too much alcohol in his eyes. 

“He’s  _ also _ the head of the Avengers,” his mother adds, sneering over the word with delicate grace, as any good lady of society would. 

The Avengers is a name everyone knows but doesn’t speak in polite company. It’s the name of the mob that runs the city from Lower Manhattan to Midtown. They’ve funded a new children’s hospital and free clinic in Queens and Tony has to wonder what they’re doing here at a charity event amid the richest of the rich in New York. 

“How did he get in?” Maria asks softly, shifting uneasily, the rustle of silk belying her nerves. 

“He  _ paid _ , like everyone else Maria,” Howard quips back dryly, sounding bored already. 

“You let  _ that man _ buy his way into this event?” 

“His money is just as green as everyone else’s, and it spends just as good.”

His mother opens her mouth to respond but Howard cuts her off with a  _ look  _ and throws back the dregs of his whiskey, “Just stand there and smile Maria. I’m going to go make sure this damn charity of yours gets money,” he snaps, smoothing a hand over his hair before he walks away, smiling broadly and reaching out to the crowds that clamor for his attention. 

Maria hums softly and shakes her head, smiling gratefully when Tony hands her another glass of water. “Money can buy you a lot of things Anthony, but it can’t buy you class or respect,” she murmurs, gaze flickering from Howard to the mobster in their midst.

Tony watches him move through the crowd, shaking hands and smiling and thinks that he looks like a shark, deciding if the fish around him are friend or food. His mother pats his arm and smiles before pulling away and straightening her hair. 

“You be good, I need to speak with Janet.”

He nods and accepts the kiss to his cheek with grace, watching her melt into the crowd, her spine straight and her head held high. He’s wished a thousand times that she would leave Howard, but despite his years of abusive vitriol, she’s stayed. 

He knows it’s a function of the lifestyle they live—good wives and mothers don’t break up the family. They take their pain and grief and hide it behind a polite smile and chase it down with a martini and a Xanax. 

He takes the old fashioned the bartender slides him and watches the crowd for a few drinks before his father takes the stage and he takes his neat scotch out onto the nearest balcony. 

The hot press of the crowd fades as he steps into the chilly December air, and he inhales deeply, the wet scent of leaves stirring something primal in him. The scent of cigarette smoke comes on his next inhale and when he opens his eyes he finds—

James Barnes. 

_ Watching _ him.

The older man lifts a brow at Tony’s surprised stare and the corner of his mouth twitches in a wry approximation of a smile. “Something on my face?” he asks teasingly, eyes glimmering with amusement in the low light. 

“No, you’re uh, you’re fine,” Tony stammers, cheeks flushing when the other man grins and inhales hard on his cigarette, lips pursing and drawing his cheeks hollow in a way that highlights the sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones. 

He watches as the man exhales the smoke into the cool night air, those piercing eyes staring back at him through the swirling of the blueish smoke around his head. He reminds Tony not so much of a shark like he had thought earlier, but a dragon—wreathed in smoke, head cocked to the side as it decides whether to eat the trembling prey before it. 

A shiver runs down his spine and he glances away, flushed at the idea of the man before him eating him in a way that has  _ nothing _ to do with food and  _ everything _ to do with searing pleasure and gasping breaths. 

With a hip buttressed against the stone railing, the lines of his suit are on display; impeccable and expensive.

In fact….

“Is that  _ Valentino _ ?” Tony asks in disbelief. 

James lifts a brow again and Tony’s struck by how expressive his face is, how sharp and intelligent his eyes are as he casts a flickering gaze over Tony’s suit and then smirks. 

“Yours isn’t half bad either kid,” he replies, the taunting note in his voice and the  _ kid _ sending Tony’s hackles up. 

“What would  _ you  _ know about it?” Tony snaps back, “I bet yours  _ fell off a truck _ , didn’t it?” he laughs mockingly. 

James studies him and then shrugs, a fluid movement, “These people? They’d sooner step on your neck trying to grasp for power than help you up off the floor. But if I’m gonna rub elbows with em, I’m not givin them more reason to look down on me as some street trash mobster with too much ambition and too little class.” 

Now  _ that  _ takes Tony by surprise, because who in their right mind gives a shit what  _ these _ pretentious assholes think? 

“They’ll never respect you,” he tells James, suddenly wanting him to know the truth about these people who think they’re so much better than a mobster when in reality they do everything in their not inconsiderable power to keep their money, hoarding it like the greedy fucks they are. 

The rich and powerful are their own mob with a veneer of respectability on it—but it’s all the same. They don’t care who they step on to get their money and power and Tony has long since grown sick of it. 

James flicks the ash of his cigarette away and studies Tony for a long time, silent as he weighs Tony’s words. “Why are  _ you  _ here?” he finally asks, “aren’t you a little young for this?” 

Tony scowls at him, “I’m twenty one, not  _ twelve _ . And even if I was twelve I’d still have to be at this thing, it’s my mom’s charity,” he explains before edging closer and gesturing to the cigarette, “Can I get one?”

James studies him for a moment and then nods, reaching inside his jacket, the crushed velvet of it gleaming in the low light and for a moment Tony wants to reach out and touch it, to see how soft it would be. 

The moment ends when James holds out a cigarette and then leans in a little to light it for him with a match—so oddly old fashioned that it makes Tony smile. The flame flickers and illuminates the older man; Tony stares at the hard lines of his face, an answering flame of desire curling into his gut. 

He nods unsteadily and leans back, inhaling the pitch black nicotine flavor into his lungs. It swirls through his veins, heady and illuminating, the slick heat of the scotch washing down his throat soon after it. 

“Tony, there you are—Put that shit out and get in here, I need you to make nice with Alexander Pierce.”

James goes rigid at his side for a moment and Tony sighs softly, crushing his cigarette into the stone before turning and smiling at his father. “Sure thing, wouldn’t want him to think  _ you’d _ actually get down on your knees, but hey, I’m just a useless fag, so why not throw me to the wolves?”

Howard lurches forward and James moves with nearly inhuman speed, going from a languid lean to stepping smoothly between Howard and Tony.

“Mr. Stark, I wanted to take a second of your time to talk about your latest AR-M9, the clip release has been sticky and it’s costing my men valuable time in reloading under fire.”

Howard stares over James’s shoulder at Tony, eyes glittering with anger and hate and Tony swallows hard, grateful suddenly for James stepping between them. 

That look only ever spells pain.

“I don’t care how you and your criminals use my weapons Barnes,” Howard replies dismissively, “especially if you’ve made aftermarket modifications that reduce their efficacy.”

James smiles wolfishly, “I’m not sure what you mean sir, I think you’ll find that my private protection and military contractors are using legally purchased weapons. White Wolf Security Group?” he explains, “In fact, I believe one of our men provided security when you went to Afghanistan for a weapons test last month.”

Tony’s never seen Howard’s face  _ do that _ before and he kinda wants to take a picture so he can remember it, but James shoots him a look and he takes it as the not so subtle hint it is for him to  _ go _ . He hurries away and steps back into the fray, grinning when he spies the coppery hair of his favorite person in the whole world, besides Rhodey of course.

“Pepper!!”

* * *

  
Six hours later he’s standing in the city morgue, staring blankly down at the mangled bodies of his parents, trying to remember how to breathe, how to function. 

The scent of formaldehyde is sickening and his stomach lurches, nausea choking him as he stares down at the damage done to his mother’s face that leaves her barely recognizable. 

He gets the faintest tang of her Chanel perfume on his next shaky inhale and it’s like a switch is flipped because suddenly he’s bent over the sink, throwing up everything inside him, gasping and crying, hands shaking where they cling to the cold metal of the sink. 

The swinging door behind him thunks and he stiffens, coughing and spitting into the sink, hating the idea that someone might see him like this. 

“Oh  _ god _ .”

Tony’s shoulders slump at the warm, familiar voice of Uncle Obie. He rinses his mouth and splashes water on his face, exhaling unevenly, eyes closed as he tries to regain some measure of composure.

His suit jacket is long gone, the bow tie at his throat undone and hanging loosely as he leans over, the bitter scent of his sick making his stomach churn. 

A thick hand lands on his shoulder and he resists for a moment before crumbling and letting Obie pull him into a hug that makes tears spring to his eyes once again. Obadiah holds him as he cries silently, a large hand rubbing his back reassuringly.

When he finally calms, Obie steps back a bit and smiles sadly down at him, “You know what this means don’t you?” he asks, lifting a brow at Tony’s continued silence—Tony can’t think past the fact that his mother is lying dead on a cold metal table, whatever it is that’s so important to Obie isn’t even in the same universe as his brain right now. 

Obie sighs and pats his shoulder, “The company is yours now Tony; Stark Industries is  _ yours _ .”

Tony nods but doesn’t really hear him, he’s too busy wondering if his mother’s bottle of xanax is enough to make this numbing pain end. 

“You just let me handle it for now,” Obie murmurs and Tony nods numbly. 

“Sure,” he agrees, glancing back as Obadiah propels him out of the room, to where the shrouded figure of his mother lies, too still and too small for a woman who had been a blazing figure of strength for his whole life. 

He won’t see her again till the funeral. 

* * *

  
There’s a man at the funeral Tony doesn’t recognize; tall and rugged with scars on his face and eyes that frighten Tony in a way he can’t quite put a reason to. There’s something about him that suggests violence comes easily, and amidst the swathes of high society, he stands out like a raven amidst canaries. 

Tony loses his focus on the man when they lower his mother’s coffin into the cold wet earth beside his father, the creak of the winch grating on his nerves till he feels like he’ll go insane if he has to listen to it for another second. 

The gentle thud the casket makes as it bottoms out nearly sends him to his knees—he sways and Obadiah grips his elbow tighter, holding him steady. He’s deeply grateful to have the man there beside him, holding him up when every part of him aches to collapse and weep like a child. 

He doesn’t though, because Stark men are made of iron. 

* * *

  
He grits his teeth through the wake and smiles politely, nodding at all the platitudes and gilded lies people spew about his father. When he’s considering screaming he catches Obadiah’s eye and nods minutely before slipping away, chest constricted so tightly he feels as though his lungs can’t expand properly.

For some reason he ends up in his father’s study, scotch in hand as he stares at the awards on the walls, the magazine covers and articles clipped out meticulously by his mother, the photos of Howard shaking hands with Presidents and Generals—none of Tony though. 

He scoffs and swallows down the scotch, hissing at the burn before pouring another, swallowing it down quickly too. 

He never was good enough for his fa—for Howard. 

“Mr. Stark.”

He whirls, eyes widening when he sees James Barnes in the doorway, leaning languidly against the doorframe, suit jacket hanging open to reveal a trim waist and firm chest encased in a handsome Tom Ford shirt and vest. 

_ God,  _ Tony loves a man in a three piece suit. 

Tony licks his lips, the taste of scotch heavy on them and nods, “Mr. Barnes, come to pay your respects to your gun supplier?” It’s said with vicious intent, sharp and designed to cut, but James just shrugs and shakes his head, lips tilted up on one side in a hint of a smile. 

“Nope, never did much personal business with your old man, but I donated a good bit to your mother’s charities,” he says evenly, pushing off the frame to stalk forward—tightly controlled power in every one of his movements and Tony’s reminded of a panther stalking its prey. 

(Is he the prey? He sort of hopes so.) 

He watches as James pours himself a glass of Howard’s scotch and then steps up to Tony, glass lifted, brow rising when Tony doesn’t immediately lift his in a toast. 

His fingers feel sweaty against the glass and he grips it tighter, lifts it and meets James’s gaze evenly, heart thudding in his chest. 

“To Maria, a better woman than Howard ever deserved, a woman admired by many and known by few,” James murmurs and Tony inhales sharply, tears burning in his eyes as he nods and touches his glass to James’s, the ringing of it still in the air as he tosses it back his throat, gulping down the burning liquid with a desperation that makes him shake.

When he looks back up, James is sipping his scotch, sea glass eyes watching him over the rim of the tumbler, and it occurs to him that they’re standing close—too close for propriety. If someone walked in they might think…

Tony flushes and looks away, toying with his empty glass, wishing he had more but unable to move from beneath the gaze that pins him in place. 

“Tony? Where are you hiding my boy? Oh there—”

He looks up as Obie strides into the room, intelligent gaze sweeping over he and James, drawing some conclusion that Tony’s not sure he’s comfortable with. Obie knows about The Incident and Tony’s sexual preferences, but he’s never had much to say about them outside of muted words of support. 

What this looks like to Obie, to anyone who walked in...Tony swallows hard and hopes this doesn’t turn into a  _ thing.  _

The older man steps close, drawn up into an intimidating pose, brow furrowing in displeasure at James. 

“I don’t know how you got in—”

“Front door,” James drawls, amusement playing in his eyes, gaze flickering to Tony for a moment before returning to Obadiah. 

Obie scowls, “But you’re not welcome,” he finishes, extending an arm toward the door, a clear invitation for the man to leave. 

“Obie, he just wanted to offer his condolences for mom,” Tony protests, “he—”

“It’s fine,” James cuts him off, turning so Obadiah can’t see his face, something in his eyes telling Tony that it’s time to shut up now. Tony presses his lips together and gives a minute nod and something like pride flashes in James’s eyes before he’s turning back to Obadiah. 

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he says, stepping away from them both. “You have my condolences.”

They both watch him go, and when they’re alone Obadiah rounds on him and sighs, shaking his head, gaze flickering to the glasses on the desk. “You drunk?” he demands, scowling at Tony.

Tony weighs his response—if he says yes Obie might let him slip away to be alone, but he’ll never hear the end of it. Sighing softly, he shakes his head, “Not really,” he murmurs, flinching minutely when Obie claps a hand to his shoulder and squeezes. 

“Good, c’mon my boy, make your mother proud.”

Tony nods and lets himself be guided out of the study. 

He can do this. 

For his mom. 

* * *

  
James slides into the waiting car and nods to Natasha, waiting till they’re halfway down the massive driveway to speak.

“He has no idea.”

Across from him, Steve frowns, “Neither do we Buck,” he reminds him yet again. 

James shifts at the name from their youth—Steve is the only one who uses it and to hear it now is jarring. He shoots Steve a look and the other man’s jaw tightens in annoyance, but he nods his apology. 

“You know as well as I do Hydra killed Howard and Maria Stark, evidence be damned,” he snaps, rubbing his palms over his knees anxiously. 

Steve sighs and nods, “We can’t prove it. We’ve been in a ceasefire with them for five years, why would they risk it now?” 

James shakes his head and peers out the window at the sleet pelting against the glass. “I don’t know Steve, but I’m damned sure not going to let them get away with it.”

There’s a long beat of silence and then Steve says very quietly, “It’ll be war.”

The rest of the car ride is silent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!! 
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!


	2. Chapter 2

_ Let me take care of it Tony my boy, you focus on your studies.  _

That’s what Obie had told him three weeks ago when he’d been too high to stand, vision going black around the edges and unable to focus for a board of director’s meeting that was supposed to be used to cede control of the company to Tony. 

Instead, Obadiah was named interim CEO, and Tony was left to drown in his sorrow and a bottle of whiskey. 

And a bottle of Xanax 

And a few lines of coke

But really, he has it under control. 

He does. 

He knows Rhodey is worried about him, but he can’t stay and take care of Tony—not anymore. The war in the Middle East rages on and they need good pilots—and Rhodey is the best.  _ War Machine  _ he teasingly calls his best friend, but the idea of him being shot from the sky, it leaves a cold knot in his guts. 

When Rhodey ships out to Iraq Tony is left to his own devices and most days that means sleeping in and half assedly writing papers and getting so high he can’t feel anything. 

The partners in his bed change nightly and they never stay long enough for him to get a name. 

Christmas passes in a haze; he thinks he remembers seeing Ty, but there’s nothing solid for him to grasp onto, just the fuzzy recollection of blonde hair and hands too tight on his hips and the bruises leftover there when he wakes.

He doesn’t want to think about it so he takes something, drinks something, fucks someone, drowns himself in hedonism till he’s numb and hazy. 

He’s just stumbled home from yet another party, alone this time, when something crinkles underfoot. 

Scowling into the dark of his room, he fumbles for the light switch and then curses at the too bright glare, head swimming when he glances around for the source of the sound. 

There’s a manilla envelope underfoot and he nearly loses his balance when he bends over to grab it, dizzy and nauseous as he careens toward his bed. 

Flopping down onto the comforter, he struggles with the seal for a minute, whining in frustration before he manages to get it open, dumping the contents on his lap. 

It takes a moment to register what he’s seeing but when it does, he sucks in a sharp breath and shudders, bile rising in his throat and he barely makes it to his bathroom before he’s sick. He clings to the porcelain, shivering as his body rejects everything he’s put into it tonight—weed, xanax, scotch, something else someone gave him that was round and white. 

When he’s finally done he’s coated in a sheen of icy sweat and shaking, heart thumping unevenly in his chest as he pants, slumped against the cold concrete wall with his eyes closed. He swallows hard and rises shakily to his feet, pale as a ghost and haunted like one too, hands trembling as he splashes water on his face. 

He rinses his mouth and dries his face and contemplates a shower but it’s all just a way to avoid the pictures that lay on his bed so he gathers the tatters of his courage and shuffles back out to his bed. 

The pictures haven’t changed since he first saw them, still glossy and high quality, showing the deaths of his parents in bright technicolor detail. He’s shaking but he can’t quite stop it, tears burning in his eyes as he stares down at the man who had murdered his parents. 

There’s little detail of his face—it’s covered in a mask that’s painted to look like a skull, and across his chest is emblazoned a set of crossbones. 

There are eight pictures—one of the wrecked car, two of the man beating Howard to death, three of him strangling Maria, and two of him arranging the bodies back in place. 

Tony has to swallow hard to stop himself from breaking down sobbing, hands shaking as he sets aside the photos with a shaky breath. 

His parents were murdered. 

The fact is undeniable, but the question remains, who did it and why? 

There’s a note with the photos that offers an answer.

_ Talk to the white wolf about Hydra.  _

It’s signed with an artistic rendering of a blue and red spider that Tony rubs a finger over, wondering if it’s some kind of calling card. 

The note puzzles him for a minute before the name clicks and he sits in stunned silence, staring at the blank concrete wall of his dorm room. 

His gaze falls back on the photos and his jaw clenches, determination filling him; he’s going to find out who killed his parents if it’s the last thing he does. 

He can’t undo what was done, but he can damn sure avenge them. 

* * *

James sits behind his desk, reviewing the paperwork for the last op Alpha team had run for Ty Stone and frowns heavily; there had been three injuries because the man wouldn’t listen to orders and James is starting to think it’s not worth it to take the man’s business. 

He knows most people think he’s nothing more than a thug and a killer, but that reputation helps bring in legitimate business for his company. People always want the thrill of using his name to intimidate their business enemies and for the most part he’s fine letting them do so, but Ty Stone is starting to cost him good employees.

He sighs and sends an email to his head of contracts and tells Sharon to work with legal on cancelling the contract they have with Stone. White Wolf Security Group does well enough without his money and James doesn’t need his employees getting hurt for a reckless asshole. 

He’s just turned his attention to the slew of new applicants they’ve gotten recently when a commotion outside the door draws his attention. He can hear Darcy arguing with whoever it is in soft polite tones that rapidly grow sharp and agitated as whoever it is presses her. 

The other voice grows louder and he can finally hear that it’s a male, mid twenties perhaps, and he’s angry.

“Do you even  _ know  _ who I am?” the man scoffs, “if you don’t let me in there I’ll have the Police Commissioner and then the Mayor on the phone in thirty seconds and the entirety of the NYPD up your collective asses, so I suggest you let me in Miss Lewis.”

James smirks when he hears Darcy tell the man to fuck off in no uncertain terms, but pulls his beretta from under the desk when the commotion grows louder, pointing it at the door as footsteps approach. 

The door bangs open and he has a moment of surprise when he finds young Tony Stark at the end of his gun. Dark angry eyes meet his and he holds that captivating gaze for a moment before turning to Darcy and nodding. 

“It’s fine Darce, we’re good,” he tells her with a reassuring smile, “Why don’t you get going, you don’t want to be late for Jane’s birthday party.”

She huffs and shoots Tony an annoyed look before turning on a well shod heel and storming away. They both watch her go and the moment she’s gone James turns his attention back to Tony, studying him. 

He doesn’t seem to be particularly perturbed to be held at gunpoint, in fact he seems angry with James. He’s clutching a manilla envelope, hands fisted at his sides, jaw tight and thick curls askew in a way that makes James think of rumpled sheets and breathy sighs. 

Pushing away those images, he lowers his gun and waves a hand to the chair opposite him and waits till Tony moves stiffly to take it. He can already tell he’s going to need a drink so he stands and goes to the bar under the window, pours himself a neat whiskey and one for Tony too. 

He holds it out to the younger man, watching him hesitate for a moment before taking it and setting it aside. James settles back into his chair and rocks back, gaze hooded as he studies the younger man.

“What can I do for you Mr. Stark?” he finally asks, nodding to the envelope, “S’that for me?” 

Tony hesitates again and then nods, sliding it across the desk till it’s tapping against his fingers. He sets aside his drink and takes the envelope, carefully pulling out the contents. He registers that it’s photos, but the first item is a note, handwritten and in block letters.

_ Talk to the white wolf about Hydra.  _

James notes that it’s signed with a drawing of a blue and red spider that suspects is some kind of calling card.

He contemplates it for a moment—most people know his company derives its name from his call sign when he was still in the Rangers—it’s publicly available information on their website after all. 

Still, he’s cautious. 

He’s stayed alive this long by being careful, now is no time to give up that practice.

Whoever sent Tony to him knew that they were placing him in danger, which makes  _ them  _ dangerous. 

He finally turns his attention to the photos and when he does, his stomach drops so hard and fast it’s like he’s back in Kandahar, parachute flapping uselessly as he plummets toward earth. 

_ Crossbones  _

He fights the urge to crumple the picture in his fist as rage pours through him. His breath is shaky for a moment— _ mission report soldier!— _ and then he shakes off the memories and reaches for his drink, gulping down the whiskey, relishing in the burn at the back of his throat. 

Tony is studying him when he looks up, a look of intense curiosity on his pretty face. James swallows and shakes his head, “The man in this picture is extremely dangerous,” he explains, “his name is Brock Rumlow—he’s a former CIA agent and  _ killer _ .”

Tony lifts a brow, “And how do you know him?” he asks, “through  _ business _ ?” The deliberate emphasis on the word and the look in the younger man’s eyes gets James’s back up for some reason—the words on the tip of his tongue are hot and bitter and angry, but he chokes them back. 

“I was an Army Ranger, sniper. He used my unit to do unsanctioned ops. I killed for him and paid the price for it with my soul.” 

His fingers tighten around his nearly empty glass and he lifts it, throws back the dregs and sets it down roughly, craving another or a cigarette or something hotter, more pleasurable to distract himself from these nightmares that have come to life to haunt him. 

His gaze trails over Tony in a way that’s entirely deliberate and hungry, watching as the younger man flushes and squirms, long lashes fluttering against pale gold skin and he suddenly  _ wants,  _ aches and yearns for heat and friction and frantic pleasure.

His chair thuds into the wall when he stands abruptly, and Tony jolts in his seat, flinching back, eyes wide—and that tells him everything he needs to know. 

The kid is scared of him—and he  _ should be,  _ James didn’t earn his reputation the easy way, no, it’s forged in bone and battle and blood. Tony should  _ absolutely  _ be afraid of him, but for some reason it angers him that he is, and he’s seized with an urge to be gentle, soft. 

He wants, irrationally, to comfort Tony, to hold him, and that ends up scaring him more than anything has in a long time. He hasn’t felt this urge to be close to someone in years, and it scares the shit out of him. 

His hands shake as he pours himself another drink and promptly swallows it down. He’s drinking too much, too fast, and he’ll regret it in the morning when he’s training with Natasha, but for now, he needs the burn, needs it to chase away this ache he feels inside. 

“So what do I do?”

James snorts and shakes his head, “You leave it alone and let me deal with it,” he replies, turning back to find Tony staring at him intently, a frown turning his lush lips down. 

“He killed my family, my  _ mother,  _ I can’t just leave it alone!”

The thin rein on his patience snaps and he strides over to his safe, cursing through gritted teeth as he punches in the code and yanks out a stack of photos. 

Slamming them down in front of Tony he points, eyes blazing with rage and self loathing, at the bodies. “This is what he did to a family who saw his face in a tiny village in the Khost province,” he taps the picture of the family lying in a mass grave, the baby still clutched to its mother’s chest. 

He flips to another, “ _ This _ is what he did to someone he wanted information from,” he snarls, watching as Tony blanches at the sight of the mangled body. 

He flips to the last one and his stomach lurches, the fight leaving him when he sees his own handiwork. “This is what he made me do.”

It would be easy to mistake the figure in the photo for nothing more than a pile of bloody rags, but James knows all too well that it’s  _ not _ . It was a brother in arms, beaten, tortured and left to die like trash in the mountains of Gazni. 

He takes a steadying breath and gathers the photos up, fingers trembling as he puts them back into the safe. 

“He used to call me the Winter Soldier because of how I killed; cold and merciless and fast. I was good at what I did Tony, but I’m telling you, he’s  _ better. _ ” 

He turns back and meets Tony’s gaze, “I’ll handle this, you understand?” he prompts, firmly holding his gaze as he waits for a response. Tony shifts and then nods, looking like he wants to protest, but remains silent. 

He falls heavily into his seat and they sit in silence for a few moments before James sighs and grabs one of his business cards and flips it over, carefully printing out his cell phone number. 

Holding it out to Tony, he keeps a tight grip on it when the younger man goes to take it, “The targets were likely just your parents; if whoever wanted them dead also wanted you gone you’d be dead already. That doesn’t mean you should stop looking over your shoulder,” he cautions. 

“If you’re in trouble call me,” he orders, holding Tony’s gaze intently for a long moment before his grip eases and he sits back, exhausted. 

Tony stares at the slip of card stock for a long moment and then nods, gaze wary when he looks back up at James, fear shadowing his eyes. 

“Thank you.”

James nods and rubs a hand over his face, “Just be smart kid, I hear you’re good at that,” he says wryly, smirking when he sees the disgruntled look on Tony’s face at the unwanted nickname. 

Tony rises to his feet and pauses, hesitating for a moment like he wants to ask something, and then shakes his head and smiles thinly. James watches him go, barely even registering he’s admiring the luscious ass of the younger man till it’s gone from his sight. 

He gathers up the photos Tony’s brought him and stares down at them, hate boiling in his veins. 

“So, we going to war?”

He looks up and finds Steve leaning in his doorway, brows furrowed in concern.

James motions to the photos, “It’s him. You know he doesn’t leave a mission undone, and at some point that kid is going to wind up his mission.”

Steve nods and straightens, long legs bringing him over in just a few strides. He lifts one of the photos and stares at it for a long time, eyes pale blue and worried. 

With a sigh Steve slides into the chair Tony had vacated, reaching for the untouched whiskey, finger playing around the rim over and over again as they sit in silence. 

“You know how this is going to end.”

Steve murmurs it, looking at him sideways through those long lashes of his and James sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“How else is it supposed to end?” he retorts tiredly, “what am I supposed to do Steve? They broke the pact—they came into our territory and murdered the fuckin royalty of this city and I’m supposed to what? Let it  _ slide _ ?” 

He waves a hand, as though to encompass the problem, “We’ve known this was coming for years Stevie, it was always going to end this way.”

Steve sighs and nods, smiling wearily at him from behind the fist he has propping up his chin, “Yea Buck, I know I’m just…”

He doesn’t say it but James knows what he means. 

_ Scared  _

“Yea, me too punk, me too.”

* * *

Tony refocuses on lab work and parties a little less than before, has less sex with random strangers and looks over his shoulder constantly, the itch between them screaming to his senses that someone is watching. 

He looks around constantly but never sees anyone, and yet, the feeling persists. 

He considers contacting James and telling him about the feeling, but convinces himself that he’s being silly, pushes it from his mind and buries it with a pill or a drink or a binge in the lab that lasts so long Bruce has to remind him to sleep and eat.

He comes home from the lab one day a few weeks later and finds another envelope under his door, and his stomach plummets. 

Hands trembling, he opens it once he’s inside and then has a panic attack so strong he winds up getting high for three days, partying and carousing to try and block the information from his conscious mind. 

_ Cancer, metastatic, late stage.  _

The words echo in his mind alongside the sensation of his mother trembling under his hand, her weak smiles and thinner, haunted face. 

He hadn’t even noticed she was dying right in front of him and then she was taken, murdered, and he doesn’t know how to breathe anymore—his chest feels too tight and he drowns in agony, his smile a mask for the press that never seem to leave his side. 

The autopsy report is cold and clinical and entirely different than the one Obadiah had shown him after the funeral and he has to wonder why—why would someone change the autopsy? 

He ponders it for days before going to see Obie at SI, a copy of the report in his backpack. Most people avoid looking directly at him but he can hear their whispers trailing after him like the waves left in the wake of a schooner. 

He only has to wait ten minutes before Obie strides into his office with a booming hello and a hug that’s just shy of too tight. Still, it’s the most genuinely affectionate touch he’s had in months and he sinks into it for a moment before Obie pulls away and stares at him, eyes narrowing.

“You’ve been partying too much Tony,” he says, “you need rest.”

Tony doesn’t bother to correct him—the only time Tony can sleep without nightmares is when he’s stoned out of his mind, and with his thesis research paper due soon, he has no time to sleep anyway. Every moment not in the lab is spent writing his thesis, which means he’s been getting by on a few hours a night, if he’s lucky. 

“I’ll try,” he promises nonetheless, smiling wanly as Obie guides him into a chair before seating himself behind his large desk, rocking back in his chair to study Tony once more. 

“What brings you here my boy?” he asks, “not that I’m not happy to see you!” he assures Tony with a laugh. 

Tony hesitates for a moment before reaching into his backpack and sliding the report across the desk to Obadiah. The older man stares at it for a second before lifting it and reading, gaze darting from the page to Tony’s face. 

Something unnameable passes over his face, there and then gone before Tony can get a handle on what it is. “Where did you get this?” Obie asks, tapping a finger against the paper now lying on his desk. 

“Someone left it under my door,” he explains, “I don’t know who. Did you know she was sick?” he asks, throat thick as he pictures his mom once more in his mind and realizes just how much he’d missed in his preoccupation with his own life. 

Obie sighs and rubs a hand over his jaw, eyes sad when he looks at Tony. “She didn’t want you to know. She was worried you wouldn’t finish with school, that you’d come home to try and take care of her and she didn’t want that. She wanted you to be happy.”

It’s like he’s been dipped in liquid nitrogen—flash frozen and brittle. “Was she…” his tongue feels clumsy and he tries again, “chemo?  _ Anything? _ ” he begs, tears blurring his vision.

Obie sighs and shakes his head, “No, son, they caught it too late. It was everywhere. She was receiving palliative care. She had probably two weeks left before the accident.”

_ The accident  _

It hits him then, that even if she hadn’t been murdered she still would have died, that he would have been just as blindsided when she died unexpectedly. 

His heart beats too quickly and his palms sweat as he tries to think, tries to connect his thoughts but it’s all a rush and he can’t, he  _ can’t— _

“Tony, why don’t you sit down huh?”

He’s standing? 

He looks around and finds that yes, he’s on his feet. He grabs his backpack and stumbles out the door, ignoring Obie as he calls for Tony to stop. 

The cold wind slices through him when he steps outside and he shudders at the searing pain of it, the first real thing he’s felt all week. He lurches forward, hands turning numb as he walks and walks and walks.

It’s dark by the time he makes it back to his dorm room and he can’t feel most of his body, frozen down to his soul. He strips and slides into bed, shaking and panting, huddled under the covers till the heat begins to return to his limbs. 

With it comes pain, and he doesn’t want that right now, he doesn’t want to feel  _ anything.  _

He fishes out some pills from his stash and takes a colorful trio, swallowing them down with a gulp of warm vodka that makes him gag. Staring around his room, he looks at everything he’s worked so hard for and considers setting it all on fire. 

Instead, he climbs clumsily out of bed and puts on his tightest black jeans, scuffed and worn boots, and a tight, sheer shirt that more than one partner has peeled off him appreciatively. 

He doesn’t call Happy to drive him, he takes a taxi instead to Anachronism and passes easily inside, past the crowds waiting in the cold and into the VIP section. A bottle of ice cold vodka is there within moments, and soon enough he’s surrounded by hangers on, social climbers and pretty people as empty as the look in Tony’s eyes. 

He blows someone in the bathroom and washes the taste down with more vodka. 

A pretty girl sits in his lap and grinds into his cock which is sort of interested, but when he doesn’t get fully hard she scoffs and slides off him, gone to seek more willing prey. 

He’s hazy as he slips out the back door for a smoke, music still pulsing through his veins. The nicotine feels good, warming, and he inhales greedily, too fucked up to even notice the men approaching from the shadows.

The first blow disorients him—just above the base of his skull, and he cries out weakly in pain before another lands, this time a fist to the kidney that has him doubling over, gasping. 

A hand fists in his hair and he’s dragged out of the alley, sobbing and fighting, kicking out in a desperate bid to win his freedom. 

Someone curses when his foot connects with something and then he’s reeling from a punch to the jaw that feels like it’s shattered him. He’s on the ground before he knows it and then retching when he’s kicked in the ribs and gut. 

He hears shouting and then suddenly the blows end and he hears the word  _ police.  _ Somehow he struggles to his feet, swaying like a tree in the breeze, and lurches away. 

Instinct pushes him to get to safety and he walks, sticking to the shadows, clutching his burning ribs, each inhale agony. 

Something like relief goes through him when he sees the familiar outline of a wolf howling on the front doors of a nondescript brownstone. He sobs a little, stumbling up the stairs eagerly, breath catching when the door won’t open. 

Tears burn on his cheeks and he bangs weakly on the glass, “James, please!” he calls, lungs burning as he sobs for breath, terrified and hurting. 

He slumps to the ground when he realizes that no one is here, that he’s alone, wounded and weak. Head lolling to rest against the frosted glass, he struggles to breathe through the pain, trying to think clearly. 

If James isn’t here, where else can he go? 

Whoever it is that sent the photos and autopsy report clearly knows where he lives and whoever it was that tried to abduct him(kill him too probably) has clearly been following him. 

He pulls his phone out and winces when he sees the screen has cracked. It still works, thank Lovelace, and as he scrolls through his contacts, he has a bitter moment of realization at the few people he has in his phone—a quarter of whom are now dead. 

_ James Barnes  _

He stares at the name for a moment before tapping the contact information and holds his breath as the line connects and then rings and rings and rings. 

_ Shit  _

It goes to voicemail and he sobs, curling in on himself tighter, ending the call without leaving a message. He tucks himself into the corner and tries to calm down, to think of where else he can go that’s safe, but all he can do is remember the look on his mother’s face when she was murdered. 

The surprise, the terror—it had all been in her eyes before they showed nothing at all. 

He’s cold again, shivering from being seated on cold stone in too little clothing, but he can’t find the will to move quite yet. Where would he even go? 

Maybe Bruce? 

He’s still trying to figure out what to do when headlights pass over the street and then cut off, a door slamming before he hears a voice—“Tony?”

He flinches at the figure that’s appeared, looming over him in the dark, and tries to curl himself into a tighter ball—protect his weakened ribs and bruised face.

“Hey, it’s ok Tony, it’s me, it’s James.”

Looking up warily, he studies the man for a moment before recognition hits and an involuntary whimper crawls out his throat. James curses and steps forward, unlocking the door hurriedly before he crouches down and offers Tony a hand, gaze gentle and warm.

_ Safety  _ his brain screams, and he shakes as he reaches out and lets James pull him to his feet, groaning when his ribs and back and head all pound hotly, agony pouring through him. 

He’s barely aware of anything as James gets them inside, vision flickering and going grey around the edges. He’s lowered onto something soft and then something heavy and warm is laid on top of him and fingers curl through his hair gently. 

Tony manages to get his eyes open enough that he can see James crouched beside him, sea storm eyes dark and angry, even as his hand remains gentle on Tony’s head. 

“M sorry for causin trouble,” Tony slurs, exhaustion and the fading adrenaline in his body turning his brain soft like melting honeycomb. 

James smiles, but he doesn’t look happy—the lines around his eyes deepen and his lips purse tightly, but he smiles faintly nonetheless. “I’m not unaccustomed to trouble,” he replies softly, voice low and rough. 

Tony nods and wants to say something, but his eyes are too heavy and his tongue is clumsy. The hand in his hair slips away and he can’t help the whine that slides out of his throat—he wants that gentle touch back. 

He hears James hush him and then feet moving and paper shuffling and then his head is being lifted and something solid is pressing to his lips and cool water trails down his throat. 

He swallows until it’s gone and then winces when James peels open his eyelids and shines a light in them. 

“I know it hurts, but you have a lump on the back of your head and I want to make sure you don’t have a concussion,” James explains. 

Tony sighs and submits to the inspection, dutifully swallowing more water when James holds the glass to his lips before he grows so exhausted he’s limp in the hold James has on him. 

A low, dry chuckle sounds warmly in his ear and he smiles, thinking how nice it sounds, how James should laugh more, and then he’s lying flat again and the blanket over him is rearranged around him. 

The hand in his hair is back and he arches his neck like a cat, seeking touch and purring when nails scrape gently over his scalp. 

“Rest Tony, you’re safe.”

_ Safe,  _ he’s safe, here with James.

His lips curl into a soft smile as he falls under the tides of exhaustion, safe and warm. 

* * *

James pets Tony’s hair till he’s assured the younger man is asleep and then pulls away carefully to step out of the room, standing just outside the doorway to keep an eye on him while he calls Steve and Dr. Erskine. The older man isn’t pleased to be woken so late, but promises he’s on his way once James gives him a short run down of the situation. 

Steve doesn’t even question the order to get to HQ at three in the morning, just shows up with takeout Chinese and Natasha at his side like a shadow. Erskine isn’t far behind and once he examines Tony, his face draws tight with disapproval. 

The old man waves a hand, drawing the trio out of the room and into the hallway. He peers thoughtfully over the rims of his glasses at James and he has a moment of discomfort at how piercing his eyes are, how they’ve always been able to see more than just what lies on the surface. 

Erskine sighs, “He is underweight and malnourished, but it is nothing some good meals and rest won't solve. Two of the ribs are cracked and another is bruised. His concussion is minor, but he shouldn’t be alone for at  _ least _ a week to ensure his continued well being,” he explains, German accent harsher with weariness. 

James nods and glances back into the room, lingering on Tony’s sleeping form as his mind works through everything that’s happened, assessing all the angles and factors before he lines up his shot and takes it. 

“Thanks doc,” he murmurs, looking back to Erskine with a dry twist of his lips that’s not really a smile. 

The doctor nods and waves a hand in a sweeping gesture, “Be careful young man,” he advises, “these men you battle have no interest in honor, only power.”

“I know doc, believe me.”

Erskine softens as they pause by the front door, reaching out to tap his glasses against James’s shoulder gently, “How is the old wound?”

James smiles faintly, “It’s fine. Hurts sometimes.”

Erskine studies him thoughtfully and then nods, humming wordlessly. “You are a good man Sargent Barnes, do not forget this,” he admonishes softly, walking away before James has a chance to argue. 

James locks the doors once more and walks back to his office to find Natasha and Steve talking softly, a warm, fond smile on Steve’s face as Natasha murmurs in Russian. 

If he wanted to, he’d put some effort in and figure out what she was saying, but based on the sappy look on Steve’s face, he’s not sure he really wants to know. 

Clearing his throat, he lifts a sardonic brow when Steve flushes and looks abashed. It’s cute how soft his best friend is for Natasha, but sweeter yet is the fierceness with which she watches his back. 

He’s seen her tear apart a man for daring to point a weapon at her beloved husband, and even when they had all solely been brothers and sisters in arms, she had earned the call sign Black Widow for her ability to strike hard; fast and deadly like her namesake. 

They step into Steve’s office and he sighs, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. 

“We will protect him.”

Natasha’s sure voice is like a steadying force in a growing storm, buoying him up under strong headwinds. He smiles tiredly at her, “Thank you Nat. I want one of you by his side 24/7–classes, dorm room, wherever he goes, so do you.”

Natasha nods and smirks, “Perhaps this is a job for Hawkeye?” she suggests, “a woman cannot go as many places as a man may,” she says, feigning innocence. 

Steve snorts—if there’s somewhere Natasha wants to be, woe betide the man who gets in her way. 

She shoots him a sharp look and then turns back to James, eyes narrowed, “Hawkeye can go with him, Falcon and Wanda will take the days and Steven and I will take nights.”

James nods, it’s a good plan, solid. 

“Once he wakes and I get the story from him, we’ll decide next steps,” he tells them. “He has a hand stamp from Anachronism, Nat I want you to go get security video and see what happened. Get me names of who did this.”

He looks to Steve, “I want you to go secure his dorm room, take Lang with you,” he orders, ignoring the way Steve’s face wrinkles in displeasure—he doesn’t care if Lang annoys Steve with his hero worship, he needs this done,  _ now.  _

“Move him into one of our secure apartments. I don’t want him where they can get to him easily.” 

It’ll be easier this way, to keep him safe. 

Steve and Nat nod at his orders and stride off together in the direction of the supply room. He paces the hall slowly, mind turning over all the details he knows, trying to figure out how they all fit together. 

He barely notices when Steve and Nat leave, only that the building feels emptier without them, colder and lonelier. Glancing at his watch, he sighs when he sees it's nearing 5am. 

With a tired sigh he goes to the break room and makes himself the strongest coffee they have, staring into the fridge sightlessly until the cold air makes him shiver and he shuts it with a decisive snap. 

Tony is still asleep when he goes to check on him so he seats himself behind his desk and opens his laptop—he has his own research to do. 

The sun rises slowly, the sky pinking like a blush while he reads through years of stock reports and articles on the Stark dynasty. By the time the sun is fully up and he’s strung thin by too many cups of coffee he’s learned just about everything there is to know about Tony and his family. 

His gaze settles on the sleeping man, his own lids heavy and gritty with exhaustion. Tony is worth billions—and he’s the only Stark left. 

Running a hand through his hair, he sighs heavily, craving a smoke. 

Whatever this thing is, it’s going to get a hell of a lot messier before it’s over. 

* * *

Tony can’t deny he’s disappointed that James isn’t part of his security detail—but he’s not dumb, the man has a face that’s memorable; even if someone didn’t know who he was he’s still too handsome and striking to not gain notice. 

A blonde man with a black eye and a bandage on the bridge of his nose is his new security detail, along with four others who rotate between night and day shifts so he’s never alone. 

A hyperactive man named Scott had set him up with a new security system for his new apartment—and hadn’t  _ that _ been a surprise, coming home to find out that his dorm room was no longer  _ home _ , chattering the whole time about how he had been a thief in another life before he met James. 

When he asks the other men and women who guard him, he finds they all have similar stories—aimless and adrift, they had been found one way or another by James and given a job, a home, a  _ family.  _

It makes him wonder who James  _ really  _ is under all the masks he wears—mob boss, business man, former soldier—they all work to keep the world at a distance, to keep himself from being  _ known,  _ and that’s something Tony knows a little something about. 

The fragility of being known is utterly terrifying and Tony wonders if maybe he and James aren’t so different. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!! 
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been a month and Tony has started to let himself believe that maybe things were finally blowing over, that maybe this whole thing was done, that whoever it was that had wanted him dead had changed their mind. 

And then he comes home from class and finds another manila envelope. Hawkeye takes it from his numb fingers, flipping through the photos of Obadiah with the man from the funeral, and his whole posture changes. 

“I’ll take these to the boss,” Clint tells him quietly, “Wanda and Sam will stay with you while I’m gone. You do what they say, understand?”

Tony looks up from where he’d been staring blankly at his hands and shakes his head. “No, take me with you,” he orders, “I need to talk to him.”

Clint doesn’t look pleased, but he doesn’t argue. 

The ride over is silent, both men too wrapped up in their thoughts to carry on a conversation. When they arrive at White Wolf headquarters Tony’s surprised to see the lobby full of men and women in suits. 

Clint just marches him past and nods to Darcy who nods back, mouth pulling into a sour expression when she sees Tony—apparently he remains unforgiven for his intrusion the first time he’d come here. 

“Who are those people?” Tony asks Clint quietly, glancing over his shoulder to the rapidly disappearing lobby. 

“Recruits.”

“For the company or…”

Clint shoots him a look that says  _ shut up _ more vehemently than any words could do and Tony presses his lips together, falling quiet. 

Clint knocks twice and calls out, “Comin in boss,” before pushing the door open and stepping inside. James is behind his desk and there’s a blonde woman in the chair across from him, a stack of resumes between them. 

James looks up at them, gaze darting between Tony, Clint, and the manila envelope in Clint’s free hand. His mouth purses for a brief moment before he looks back to the blond woman, a tight smile on his lips. 

“Sharon, you and Carol can conduct the interviews, they’re first line anyway—narrow down the field and set up second rounds for me to do next week.”

She nods and gathers up the paperwork, casting a curious gaze at Tony before striding away and shutting the door behind her. 

There’s a long moment of silence in which James stares at them both, studying them solemnly before he sighs and shakes his head, “What happened?” he asks, gaze moving to Clint, leaving Tony feeling bereft and wanting. 

“Came back from class and found this. Still not sure who dropped it off, Wanda and Scott are checking the surveillance, but so far nothing.”

James’s lips purse tightly, displeasure in his eyes as he shifts and leans back in his chair, one leg crossing over the other and Tony can’t help but notice the way his trousers pull tight over his muscular thighs. It makes something in his gut squirm and he curses himself silently when heat rises in his cheeks, his gaze darting away before James notices his scrutiny. 

With a sigh, James reaches out for the envelope, nodding his thanks when Clint hands it over. “Give us some privacy,” he orders softly, shooting his gaze to the door in a pointed look that has Clint slipping away quickly. 

When the door clicks shut behind him Tony slumps into the chair across from James, bowing forward to let his head fall into his hands. 

“Have you looked inside?”

Tony nods minutely, a shuddering breath passing his lips as he recalls the images on the pages within. 

He can hear the soft rasp as the envelope is opened and then the flicker of pages being turned, the rasp of fabric on leather as James shifts in his seat, and then a long, tired sigh. 

“This man is Crossbones, the man your friend is talking to.”

Tony laughs humorlessly and lifts his head to look at James through weary eyes. “Uncle. He’s...he was…” his breath catches and he can’t help the half broken sob that escapes, tears burning in his eyes. “I thought he was my family.”

James sighs heavily and tosses the pages onto his desk, shaking his head. “It’s a tough lesson kid, but here it is—don’t trust  _ anyone _ .”

Tony laughs wetly and looks up at him after wiping his face, eyes red rimmed and throat sore from swallowing his anger and grief. 

“What about you? Should I trust  _ you _ ?”

James stares at him for a long time, expression unreadable, eyes dark and distant, and then finally, he smirks and shakes his head, glancing away when he speaks. 

“You  _ definitely _ shouldn’t trust me Tony. I’m a murderer and a liar and when this is all over, you should walk away and forget you ever knew me.”

James’s eyes are dark and stormy when they turn back to Tony, and the pure heat in them makes Tony shiver—no one has ever looked at him like that before. Like he’s desirable, wanted,  _ craved _ . 

“Will you forget me?” 

He’s not sure why he asks it, it’s foolish to even  _ hope _ , but he’s asked, and now he sits, breathless, waiting to see what the other man will say. 

James smiles, slow and sad and bittersweet. 

“Not even when I’m dead.”

Tony’s breath stutters and he flushes, sitting there pinned under a look so heated and longing it makes his bones ache. 

The door opens behind them, shattering the moment, and as Natasha strides in, the intense gaze James has him pinned under breaks, and Tony inhales deeply, barely aware that he’d been holding his breath until his lungs burn at the sudden rush of oxygen. 

He can feel James’s gaze on him as he rises and walks away, but their conversation in Russian doesn’t pause at his departure. 

Sparing one glance over his shoulder, he meets James’s gaze for a long, breathless moment before the older man turns his attention to the redhead and Tony slips away, heart pounding in his chest. 

* * *

Tony loses himself in a haze of coding, energy drinks and red vines, attacking the problem of how to get evidence that it truly  _ was  _ Obadiah behind his parents’ murder with a focus he hasn’t had in months. 

He barely notices when food appears before him, doesn’t sleep till he’s swaying in place, grey faced from exhaustion and too weak to fight when gentle hands guide him into his bed. 

“Sleep malen'kaya ptitsa,” a soft voice whispers. 

Fingers brush through his hair and he leans into the touch, warm and sleepy and safe. 

* * *

“He’s exhausting himself trying to create something to catch that asshole. He wouldn’t eat if Sam or I didn’t feed him.”

James looks up at Clint tiredly, waving a hand in question, “What do you want me to do about it? He’s an adult, he knows he needs to take care of himself.” 

Clint scoffs, “Man, all due respect, but what the  _ fuck _ are you talking about? That kid  _ barely  _ thinks he’s worth the oxygen he breathes—his dad was a shitstain who beat him black and blue from what I can tell and you think he has the self preservation instincts to take care of himself when he thinks no one gives a shit about whether he lives or dies?” 

Something like shame curls into James’s gut. He didn’t mean to be dismissive—he just wants to not care, to not worry so goddamn much about some twenty year old kid he barely knows, but he can’t—he  _ cares _ , no matter how much he tries to pretend like he doesn’t. 

“You asked for updates, I’m updating you. He needs someone to care about him.”

James sighs and rubs a hand over his face, “I hear you Clint. I just don’t know what you want me to do about it.”

Clint lifts a brow and shakes his head, staring James down for a long moment before shrugging his shoulders and jerking his chin toward the door, “Can I go? I need to switch out with Nat.”

James nods and watches his friend go, something like guilt burning in his stomach. 

* * *

It ends up easier than Tony had thought it would be to get his newly finalized AI into SI. He tells Obie he’s created a new security system with a limited AI function and demonstrates it in Obie’s lavish apartment, smiling through the bitter rage when Obie claps him on the back and proclaims him a genius. 

It only takes a day for him to get the system set up at SI headquarters and then he’s in—full access to files and cameras and a steady stream of information about the company that he’s never been privy to before. 

JARVIS roots deep into the system and hunts down ghost files within Obadiah’s home system, worming his way in past the firewall and taking up residence in the shadows. 

He’s working on his thesis when JARVIS alerts him to something he’s found. It’s a file marked only with a set of numbers, 121619, and it only takes a moment for him to realize that’s the date of his parent’s murder. 

Throat tight, he opens it and shudders when a video starts playing. 

An empty road, and one he recognizes. 

A car enters the frame and the sound of the crash makes Tony flinch, panic rising in his throat. 

A figure shrouded in shadows steps forward and wrenches the car door open, hauls Howard out with a hand around his throat and shoves him against the crumpled frame of the car. Howard’s voice is strained as he demands to be set free and when the man—Crossbones—backhands him Tony curses softly. 

He can’t hear what Crossbones says to Howard, but he can hear his father’s response.

_ Fuck you, I’m not giving you anything _

Crossbones punches his father and throws him to the ground, boot connecting with his gut and then under his jaw with a sickening crunch. 

Tony doesn’t even feel the tears on his face as he watches Crossbones stride around the car and yank his mother out, dragging her along till they’re in Howard’s line of sight. 

_ Please, no _

**_The formula for the serum Stark. Or she dies._ **

_ Please, let her go _

**_The serum. Now._ **

Tony watches through tears as his father refuses and gasps wetly when Crossbones crushes his mother’s throat and tosses her aside like so much trash. Dizzying sorrow overtakes him and he shoves aside his laptop, lunging towards his bathroom and in the distance he can hear Sam calling his name. 

He retches into the toilet and sobs, pushing away the hands that try to comfort him. He locks himself in the bathroom and leans against the wall, sipping from the bottle of scotch he’s hidden under the sink, numb down to his core. 

He’s halfway to drunk when he stands and unlocks the door, ignoring the look that Sam and Wanda give him in favor of pulling on his sneakers. 

“Tony, you can’t go out like this.”

He ignores that too. 

“Tony where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Not like this, c’mon man.”

He shrugs off Sam’s hand and downloads the video to a flash drive, pockets it and looks them both steadily in the eye. “I’m going to see your boss. If you try to stop me I’ll make sure he finds out it was your fault he didn’t have information he needs.”

Sam’s eyes narrow at the threat and for a moment Tony worries that he’s going to do something like knock him out and  _ force _ him to stay, but then Wanda touches his arm and lifts a brow and the fight slides out of his shoulders. 

“Man, you’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

Tony bares his teeth in a mockery of a grin and laughs bitterly, “You sound just like my dad.”

Sam flinches at that and Tony feels a flicker of guilt before pushing it aside. Shaking his head ruefully, Sam pushes Tony towards the door with a hand between his shoulder blades. 

“C’mon troublemaker. Let’s go see the boss.”

* * *

James looks up in surprise when there’s a knock at his front door. There are only a handful of people who know where he lives and they’re all on his payroll. He opens the app for his security feed and lifts a brow when he sees Tony standing at his door, Sam just behind him. 

When he opens the front door he looks past Tony to Sam and lifts a brow, silently questioning what the hell is going on here. 

“Man, it was either this or choke his twink ass out to keep him from wandering through the city half drunk.”

Tony whirls and glares at Sam, “I am  _ not _ a twink,” he hisses and James can barely hold in the laugh that’s trying to break free at the outrage in Tony’s voice and the aggrieved look on Sam’s face. 

“Sam, take the night off, I got this,” he instructs, stepping aside so he can usher Tony into his home. The younger man huffs and steps past him, but James suspects the pink in his cheeks isn’t from anger, but embarrassment. 

He nods to Sam and shuts the door, turning to find Tony staring around the townhouse with curious eyes. The younger man is dressed in dark jeans that are ripped and stained with grease and a long sleeve shirt that has a Black Sabbath tshirt layered over it—a distinctly different look than the ways he’s seen Tony dressed in the past. 

He looks as tired as his people have told him he is and it lodges in his belly, a knot of worry that he tries to pretend doesn’t keep him up at night. Shaking his head, he shifts and walks over to the younger man, dropping a hand on his shoulder and smiling faintly when Tony looks up at him through horn rimmed glasses, dark eyes wide. 

The smell of scotch is on Tony’s breath, warm and heady and for a moment James finds himself leaning in, aching for a taste. He hears Tony’s unsteady inhale and pulls back, smiling tightly, “C’mon, let’s go to my office,” he murmurs, guiding Tony up to the third floor of the house. 

He can’t bring himself to stop touching Tony; his hand shifts from between Tony’s shoulders to the small of his back and then slips away so he can step ahead of him and unlock his office door. Grabs his elbow gently, asks if he wants a drink, trails his fingers down his arm as he steps away. 

Too much, he’s letting himself go  _ too much  _ and it’s not a good idea. 

The look in Tony’s eyes doesn’t do anything to help—he’s all doe eyed and sad and James wants to kiss him till he can’t think of anything sad or painful. He  _ wants— _

His hand shivers as he pours out a drink— _ bad idea, this is a bad idea— _ and he takes a steadying breath. Leather creaks behind him—Tony shifting in his chair. Swallowing hard, he pours another drink and turns to find Tony studying the art on his walls. 

“Steve drew those,” he explains, handing over a glass shimmering with whiskey, watches as Tony sips it, feels heat curl through his belly at the slick sheen it leaves behind on his lips before his tongue darts out and it’s gone. 

“He’s talented,” Tony replies, “I know people who would pay big bucks for these.”

James smirks, thinking of Steve’s disdain for the wealthy ruling class, “I’ll be sure to tell him.”

Tony looks back to him and something crosses his face that James can’t quite read before it’s gone. With a sigh, the younger man sets aside his glass and digs something out of his pocket before handing it over. 

He studies the flash drive for just a moment before plugging it in and opening the file, fingers tightening around his glass when he realizes what it is. His gaze darts from the screen to search out Tony’s face and finds the younger man looking pointedly into the distance, toying with his already empty glass. 

He watches the whole thing twice, during which time Tony gets up and swallows down more whiskey, shoulders tense and face hidden in the shadows of James’s office. He rocks back in his chair and watches Tony pace around the room, a wraith in the darkness. 

“What do you want to do with this information?”

Tony looks over at him, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Do you want to go to the cops? The district attorney? The FBI? Those are all valid options.”

Tony laughs bitterly, “You think they all aren’t in Obadiah’s pocket? He plays golf with the DA and is friends with the director of the FBI. He’s untouchable.”

James nods solemnly, forefinger brushing over his lips thoughtfully. “Not to me he’s not.”

Tony’s steps falter and he’s just on the periphery of the light from the stained glass lamp behind James’s desk. He’s shrouded in shadow and edged in light and is so beautiful it takes James’s breath away. 

The light slices across Tony’s face when he turns to look at James, eyes piercing in the shadows. 

“You would do that for me?”

This is dangerous territory, a point of no return. 

Tony steps closer. 

He swallows his whiskey and savors the heavy burn, resolve settling into his gut. 

“I would.”

Tony steps closer still, till he’s inches from where James is seated, head tilted back to look up at him. He can see the unsteady way Tony’s chest rises and falls, how his hands shake at his sides and he aches to reach out and touch him, but the last remaining dregs of self preservation scream at him to remain still. 

_ Christ _ he wants Tony so bad it hurts, but he’s not stupid enough to actually try anything. 

Tony is a prince of the upper east side and James is a killer. 

This isn’t a fairytale. 

There are no happy endings for a man like him. 

“Why?” Tony breathes, eyes wide and dark and hungry. 

_ Tony _ he whispers, eyes begging Tony not to ask this of him— _ please _ he thinks _ please don’t make me say it.  _

“Why?” Tony presses, inching forward till he’s standing between James’s spread thighs, the heat of him radiating, tempting James, weakening his resolve till he’s reaching out, hands wrapping around the back of Tony’s slim thighs, squeezing gently. 

Tony’s hands curl through his hair, slip over the curve of his skull, nails scraping against his skin and he shudders, lids falling half shut as slim fingers move to cup the back of his head, holding him in place, forcing him to look up at Tony. 

He’s haloed in light, golden and warm while the shadows curl in around the edges of his body; a fallen angel come to tempt James further into damnation. 

_ Maybe he’s salvation _

Tony’s thumbs press into his cheekbones, dark eyes hungry on his face and James can’t help the low, wanting sound that erupts from his chest. “Why?” Tony demands softly, “why do that for me?”

His fingers bite into Tony’s legs, too hard, he knows, but if he lets go….

“You know why,” he rasps, resolve crumbling when Tony swipes his thumb over his lips, a shudder running over his spine at the sensual touch. 

He tugs on Tony’s thighs and pulls him closer, nosing at the hem of his shirt till he exposes a stripe of pale, taut stomach. His lips press into it, parting softly to breath warm wet air against it and Tony shudders in his grasp, fingers tightening against James’s scalp. 

Nosing the fabric up further, he kisses across the territory he’s claimed as his own, tugging at Tony’s thighs till the younger man sways forward and is pulled into the seat with him. He slides his hands up Tony’s ass, squeezing and caressing as he licks the vee of his hip, a groan sliding raw and low from his throat at the taste of his skin. 

Tony gasps, hips hitching forward and James takes it as the unspoken plea it is for  _ more _ . He nips and sucks and licks along Tony’s pale gold skin, leaving marks behind, the musky scent of arousal filling his nose as Tony whines and clings to him. 

“Fuck, James,  _ please _ .”

He growls low at the sound of his name on Tony’s lips like  _ that _ and drags him down into his lap, groaning as the ass he’s been fantasizing about grinds down into his cock. He finds Tony’s mouth and hesitates just a breath away—“If you don’t want this—” he starts to say, huffing in surprise when Tony cuts him off with a fierce kiss. 

“Shut up,” Tony murmurs between kisses, tongue silencing any thought of protest he might have had. 

He clings to the younger man, groaning as Tony devours him, hips rolling to grind his ass down into James’s cock, needy little sounds echoing from his throat. Heat consumes his flesh and he groans, aching for more, pulling Tony harder down into him, hands on his hips—never to restrain, god,  _ never _ that. 

He wants to peel every inch of clothing off them both and press himself into Tony, till there’s nothing left between them but skin—and even after that he wants more. He wants to crawl inside Tony like the younger man has done to him—make him feel like he’ll never be free of him, and just as scared to lose James as he is to lose Tony. 

It’s not right, he knows that, but he can’t help it. 

He never claimed to be a good man. 

Tony’s moans grow louder, breathier, and James takes the opportunity to lick and suck marks onto his pale throat as his head falls back in delight when James uses his firm grip on his hips to grind Tony’s cock down hard into his stomach. 

Tony shudders in his arms and it sends a feral pang of pride through him, his teeth sharp against Tony’s shoulder, his lean frame shaking as James worries a dark mark into his skin. 

“ _ God, James,”  _ Tony breathes, voice shaky and desperate. 

He knows how this will end—Tony will go back to his gilded cage and find someone proper to be with and James will be just a distant memory, a story Tony tells to his rich friends about the time he fucked a mobster. 

Growling, he thrusts his hips up—if it’s going to end, he’s going to make sure it’s memorable while it lasts. 

Tony cries out when James shoves his shirt up and closes his teeth around one of his dusky pink nipples, tugging on it sharply to hear that half sobbed gasp of his name one more time. 

“I’m gonna—”

Tony doesn’t finish speaking—James switches to the other nipple and pinches the slick skin of the other as he rolls his hips up and grinds his cock into Tony’s. Tony shudders in his grasp and James pulls back to watch, enthralled, as his eyes roll back in his head, lips parted around a silent cry. 

He feels the heat of Tony’s cum as they grind together, hands sliding up his back to rake back down, pulling him close so James can kiss him, hot and demanding. He’s not far off himself, the ache of his balls has him groaning into Tony’s mouth as the younger man kisses him back sloppily, soft mewls falling from his lips as he grinds their hips together. 

Tony presses his brow to James’s, their breath mingling hotly between them, slippery kisses shared as he ruts up into Tony, gasping his name desperately. Nails scrape his scalp and Tony’s lips slide against his, wet and hot and swollen. 

“Come for me,” Tony whispers, “for me James,” and something inside him snaps. 

He curls in, gasping and moaning as he comes, Tony’s name on his lips, a wretched sob that wracks his chest. Tony’s lips press to his temple as he holds James, hushing him softly, holding him as his chest heaves and his body trembles. 

_ Why,  _ he wonders, why would Tony let him do this to him? Didn’t he know? Didn’t he  _ know _ that everything James touched died? 

He had told Tony who he was, and the foolish, idiotic,  _ beautiful _ man had let him in anyway. 

A breath sobs out of him and he shakes, because like a goddamn fool he’s let himself think he could have Tony. Could be happy. 

He realizes as he struggles to breathe normally that Tony’s gone soft and languid in his arms, breathing slow and steady, and it hits him like a ton of bricks that he’s fallen asleep in James’s arms. 

Like he’s  _ safe _ there. 

He carries Tony to his bed and tucks him in, shutting off the lights by the bed before backing out of the room and making his way back to his office, slumping down into his seat with an open bottle of scotch and a glass beside him. 

He’s so goddamn  _ fucked _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The russian from this chapter (provided by google translate so forgive me if it's horribly wrong lol)--malen'kaya ptitsa is little bird.  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, I'll see you in the comments!! :) 
> 
> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!! 
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The warnings for violence and gun violence kick in during this chapter, so heads up.

Tony brings him more envelopes, more evidence of Obadiah’s treachery so he can build a trap that Stane and Hydra won’t ever see coming. Each time he comes he steals kisses from James, steals a little bit more of his heart, and James doesn’t stop him because even if it’s going to ruin him, he can’t bring himself to say no. 

He knows what the others think, he’s seen it in their faces and heard about it from Steve—

_ Buck, what are you doing? You’re gonna get your heart broken. You know this isn’t gonna end well—He’s going to go back to his world and you’ll be here in ours.  _

**_You think I don’t know that?_ ** __

It’s the first time in a long time that Steve’s walked away from him looking disappointed, and James remembers all over again how much he hates it. 

When Tony brings him evidence of some kind of secret off sight lab in upstate New York suggesting they go investigate, he takes Natasha with him instead of Steve. It’s probably this fact that keeps them alive when Hydra comes for them. 

They’re driving on the highway, the city falling away behind them and the traffic spreading out ahead when the cars in front of them careen wildly, honking and screeching filling the air and in the split second before the explosion flips the car he sees a dark spectre ahead; a grinning skull the last thing he sees before his world careens out of control. 

White Wolf owns a fleet of armored cars used for transport domestically and internationally that are only outclassed by actual military technology. 

It’s  _ this _ fact that saves their lives. 

The SUV flips and skids down the highway, and he hears Tony shout, fearful and pained. 

When things settle he hits the emergency quick release on the seat belt and crawls over to free Tony while Nat frees herself. He checks Tony quickly, noting the lack of injures before Nat is handing him weapons and body armor. 

He’s  _ so _ fucking glad he made it mandatory to carry half a dozen bullet proof vests in each vehicle—he straps it down tightly to Tony’s chest and looks out the window at where the cars are stopped behind them. 

Nat holds out a Glock to Tony— “You know how to use one of these?” she demands and then grins as Tony takes it and pops the clip, checking the count before slamming it back into place and chambering a round. 

“My name is Tony  _ Stark _ . I learned how to use one of these when I was six so I could make a better one.”

Something burns in James’s gut at the easy display of skill and he grins sharply at Tony, pride glowing brightly in his heart. 

Shots ring out and the windows of the car thud as bullets embed in the bulletproof glass. Tony flinches slightly and James turns to find the dark figure approaching, shimmering in the heat of the fire that’s engulfed another car. 

Nat grins at him grimly, “This is just like Budapest.”

James tries  _ very  _ hard not to think about Budapest. 

Nat hits the switch on the emergency exit and kicks the door out, gun up and ready as she crawls out, Tony just behind her and James behind him. He motions for Tony to stay down, peering through the billowing smoke to where Crossbones is coming for him. 

A shot rings out, barely missing him and he curses, crouching and glancing at Nat. “Keep him safe,” he orders, waiting for her nod before he lurches away and hears Tony call out behind him—“No wait!”

He doesn’t. 

He flanks the car and comes out just as Rumlow is moving toward the rear of the vehicle—to where Tony and Nat are hiding. 

He doesn’t even fully aim—he knows where he wants the bullets to go and fires. 

Rumlow jerks as the bullets hit his broad form. 

He pauses a beat and then whirls, firing even as James is pulling back. 

One of the shots ricochets off the frame of the SUV and the shattered pieces of metal slice through his suit jacket like butter. 

His forearm burns white hot and he hisses, tasting fire and smelling fuel as he shifts and fires back. He waits, three fast breaths and then lunges out, head and shoulders tucked low as he shoves his shoulder into Rumlow’s gut, sending him crashing into the frame of the car. 

Sharp elbows slam into his spine and he grits his teeth against a shout, punching in the short space he has into the other man’s groin. It’s enough that he can wrench free and swing to fire, cursing when it goes wild into the air when Rumlow blocks his arm and wrenches it up. 

A knee to the gut frees him from the grasp, but he loses the gun along the way. Allowing his momentum to continue, he flows into a crouch and pulls his knife free, whipping it out to slice into the meat of Brock’s thigh. 

He’s sent sprawling back from a reactionary kick, and then Brock is aiming at him and the shot rings out, but not from where he’d expected it. 

Brock flinches and shoots a glare at—

_ Tony _

That familiar, sharp little grin is all he sees before it’s gone and Natasha is firing at Brock while retreating, allowing him time to edge forward, knife in hand. Instinct screams to kill the man, but if they’re going to get Stane too, he needs Brock alive. 

Gravel crunches under his foot as he rises and it’s the half second of warning Brock needs to have turned just enough that when James’s knife sinks into his neck it’s not driving into the artery he’d been aiming for. 

Brock howls and turns, shoving James off and into the ground. He gets a few seconds as the man reaches and feels where he’s been stabbed before pulling the knife out and tossing it aside. That means that when Brock lifts his gun James already has his backup out and is firing, driving him back as he rises to his feet fluidly. 

Roaring, Brock rushes him and slams him back into the car, growling in his ear through the mask obscuring his face. 

“Nice to see you again,  _ Soldat _ .”

The words brush against his skin and he flashes red hot with rage, fighting to get free and then he crumples as white hot heat tears through his side. Brock’s gun follows him and he’s  _ not  _ aiming at James’s gut anymore. 

Natasha moves like silk, kicking out Brock’s knee, arm coming around his neck to pull him back and away from James. 

Things  _ really _ go to hell when Brock’s backup team shows up. 

Three men fire on them with AR-15’s and James can hear people screaming in the distance. He falls back, skirting behind the SUV to take cover and make his way to Natasha. He hears more gunfire and then sees a figure, shrouded in flaming hair, firing into the distance before being struck. 

He shouts Nat’s name and gets to her just as she hits the ground. She’s hit in the arm, the meat of it he notes, and then they’re both falling back. He scrambles for the open door and reaches in to grab one of the rifles left inside, keeping it tight as he edges back out and then rises to return fire. 

This is going to end soon—he can feel it. 

Brock and his men have more rounds and bodies, and James isn’t willing to let innocent civilians, and more importantly,  _ Tony _ , get hurt. 

They’ll have to fall back and count on the incoming scream of sirens to help cover their retreat. 

He’s looking into his periphery to find Nat so he can signal to retreat when something big and white screeches up and into the fray. Two black clad figures bounce off the hood of the van ( **_Wendy’s Wonderful Weddings!_ ** ) and go flying. 

The van’s tires screech as it careens to a halt and then slams into reverse, wheels pivoting so the rear end slams Brock forward and pins his body between the van and the SUV. 

Tony’s head pops out the window, eyes wide and scared as he waves frantically, “Come  _ on! _ ” he shouts. 

James pauses long enough to duck back into the SUV and grab the bug out bags before he and Natasha sprint to the van and climb inside. Tony hits the gas and bullies his way through the disabled cars before hitting open highway, speed climbing with each second. 

Adrenaline pounds through his veins and he peers out the back window intently, watching for any flashing lights behind them. 

They crest a hill and it’s just high enough that he can see the fray they’ve left behind and then—

It’s gone. 

* * *

They drive for another ten minutes before Tony pulls over at a strip mall, hands shaking when he finally lets go of the wheel. 

He hears James murmur something to Natasha, the creak of the van door opening screeching loudly for a moment before it's quiet again. A hand lands on his shoulder and he jolts, wide eyed and skittish, till he looks up and realizes it’s James. 

Stormy blue eyes meet his, full lips curling into something soft and affectionate as the hand on his shoulder shifts and cups the back of his head. 

It’s comforting, gentle,  _ safe.  _

“That was some fancy driving, where’d you learn that?” James asks quietly, a faint smile on his lips. 

Tony inhales a shuddering breath and grins back weakly, “Monaco. I’ve been racing cars and flying planes since I was twelve.”

James grins softly, thumb stroking the column of Tony’s neck and he can’t help but lean into the sensation, the adrenaline leaching out of his body slowly. 

“You’re a menace,” James accuses, but there’s no bite to the words, only more affection.

Their private little moment is interrupted by a horn honking and when Tony looks out the cracked windshield he finds Nat smirking at them from behind the wheel of a Charger. 

He and James hurry out of the van and into the car, doors barely slamming closed before Natasha tears out of the parking lot, wheels screeching on asphalt. 

Nat drives for another two hours till they’re surrounded by trees and the sun fades slowly over the horizon. They pull into the lot for the  _ Shady Pines Resort,  _ which to Tony looks a lot less like a resort and more like a shitty pine cabin with a satellite dish on the roof and terrible water pressure. 

Natasha checks them in and parks the car behind the building, handing them both plastic bags filled with shitty gas station food and first aid kits. 

They have adjoining rooms, Tony quickly finds out when James follows Nat into her room, the door not quite shut enough to block out the low murmur of their voices. 

Tony knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he edges closer to the door anyway after turning on the water in the shower to mask any footfalls. 

“Why the  _ fuck _ did you leave Tony when I told you not to?”

Tony has never heard James sound like that before; dangerous and angry and bone chillingly cold. It sends a shiver over his skin that’s not entirely from fear and he leans in closer to hear more. 

“Because he made a very good point that we would only be able to get away if you and I created a distraction for him to find a vehicle and get us out.”

“I gave you an  _ order _ Natasha.”

“Oh well forgive me for wanting to keep you alive Yasha, v sleduyushchiy raz ya prosto pozvolyu tebe umeret'.” 

“V sleduyushchiy raz prosto sleduy moim ukazaniyam.” 

Tony hurries away from the door when he hears rapidly approaching footsteps and scurries into the bathroom to strip and clamber into the shower. 

He stands under the hot water for a minute before hurrying to get clean, pausing when he steps out and realizes he doesn’t have clean clothes. This was supposed to be a short day trip, so it’s either put on his dirty, bloodstained clothes or pull on his briefs and deal with it tomorrow.

Tomorrow wins out easily—he pulls on his briefs and towels at his hair, shivering when the cool air of the bedroom welcomes him and he leaves the steamy warmth of the bathroom behind. 

James looks up from where he’s sorting through weapons and Tony shivers again, the heated  _ want _ in James’s eyes scorching on his skin. 

“I uh, didn’t use all the hot water,” he murmurs, ducking his head to peer at James through his lashes—it’s easier, watching him askance, it relieves some of the aching want he feels whenever that gaze is on him. 

James nods and looks back down at the AR in his hands, methodically taking it apart before reassembling it. “Thanks,” he murmurs, gaze focused on the task before him, shoulders bowed forward like he’s trying to hide from Tony’s gaze and for the life of him Tony can’t figure out why. 

He hesitates for a moment and then tosses his towel over the back of the chair and goes back to the bathroom for his clothes, washing them with some of the soap Nat had included in the bags of supplies before wringing them out and draping them to dry in the room. 

When he’s done James has finished with the weapons and heads into the bathroom, the lock flipping into place loud in the silence of the room. Tony sits and listens to the shower for a minute before flipping on the tv and digging through the bags to find something to eat. 

He settles on a soap opera and a box of cheese crackers and water, munching away until the bathroom door opens and James steps out, clad in only his briefs and promptly chokes on the cracker he’s just bit into. 

His eyes water as he coughs and splutters, cheeks fiery as he avoids James’s gaze, gulping for air when he finally stops coughing. He swallows water greedily, peering at James from the corner of his eye, swallowing hard at the sheen of water still on his broad chest. 

There’s blood on his skin too and Tony sits up a little straighter, concern filling him at the sight of it on James’s skin.

“You’re hurt.”

James looks up at him and then down to where he’s bleeding, cursing softly before wiping it away with his towel. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

Tony frowns and clambers out of bed, limbs awkward and gawky next to James’s thick thighs and lean grace. He blushes and shakes his head, reaching out to touch the edges of torn skin on James’s side. 

“That doesn’t look like nothing,” he whispers, lifting his chin to meet James’s gaze. “Let me take care of you,” he pleads, shifting closer unconsciously, the heat of James’s body alluringly close. 

There’s a long tense moment where he thinks James will say no and push him away, and then he nods, blue eyes dark and stormy and filled with desire and Tony shivers. 

He presses a hand to the center of James’s chest and pushes him gently, exhaling at how easily the other man goes, at how he allows Tony to move him. James watches him as he gathers the first aid kit and then kneels between his spread thighs, breath catching in his chest when he sees the look in James’s eyes. 

His hands shake a little as he opens the kit and pulls out the anesthetic wipes, murmuring a soft apology when James hisses from between clenched teeth at the burn of it against the gunshot wound to his ribs. 

There’s a lot of blood still and Tony swallows hard before digging out the needle and thread, wiping them down with iodine before leaning in and beginning to stitch the flesh together.

“You’re good at this.”

Tony nods and smiles briefly up at James before turning his attention back to the wound and the feel of muscle flexing under his palm as James breathes slowly, steadily.

“I got into boxing when I was fifteen,” he explains, hands steady as the needle loops back and forth evenly. “Learned how to stitch up wounds and patch myself up.”

“Why’s a little upper east side prince like you boxing?”

Tony pauses for a moment and then continues sewing. “My father was never satisfied with anything I did—if I built an engine, he’d point out all the ways it could have been better, despite the fact that I was only seven. He hated that I was smarter than him and resented me for it, so he hit me. When he drank he hit me more.”

He leans in and snaps the tied off thread between his teeth, the tang of blood on his lips when he pulls back. 

“He drank a lot,” he murmurs, holding James’s furious gaze for a moment before reaching for more wipes to clean the blood off his torso. 

“I didn’t know Tony, I’m sorry.”

Tony shrugs and gives him a wan smile as he wraps a bandage around James’s ribs to help hold the cracked one he’s got from the bullet passing through in place. 

“No one knew. Mom and I hid it well.”

He moves onto the shrapnel wounds on James’s forearm and pauses at the sight of the tattoo he hadn’t noticed before. It’s a set of wings, stretching over down his arms and when Tony stands and traces it with his fingers, finds that it spreads across his back too. 

He feels James shudder under his touch and when he looks down he finds the older man staring up at him with naked yearning in his eyes. His fingers tremble as they skim over James’s skin, soft as silk over taut muscle and he digs his fingers in for a moment, wondering what James would do if he leaned in and licked just there, at the crook of his neck. 

Instead of doing that though, he hurries to finish his bandaging and then moves carefully away, heat thrumming through his veins. His hands shake as he piles the bloodied wipes and trash into a bag, the yearning that burns in his blood so strong he very nearly turns and goes back to James. 

“You hungry?”

He does turn, lifting a brow when James holds up MRE’s labeled  _ Chili  _ and  _ Mac N Cheese. _ He’s not really interested in eating, but his stomach clenches and reminds him its been nearly twenty hours since his last solid meal—cheese crackers not withstanding. 

So he nods and smiles faintly, “Let me wash my hands,” he murmurs, casting one last glance over his shoulder before ducking into the bathroom and scrubbing James’s blood from his hands. 

It’s stained under his nails and he stares at it as he scrubs and claws at the bar of soap, trying futilely to get his hands clean. He finally gives up and dries them off before going back out to find James stirring one of the packets before handing it over. 

He’s surprised by the smell—cheesy and spicy and meaty, and when he peers into the waxy paper packet he lifts a brow at the odd contents. 

“Did you mix the chili and Mac?” 

James looks up from his own packet and smirks, “Believe me, it’s better this way,” he replies before taking a hearty bite and leaning back against the pillows. 

Tony shrugs and joins him on the bed, aware of how little space there is between them. He can smell the cheap shampoo on James’s hair and clenches the spork in his hand a little tighter to keep himself from leaning in and inhaling. 

That would be creepy and Tony isn’t a creep. 

They eat in relative silence, watching the soap opera till the packets are empty and Tony’s eyes are heavy. He wiggles down into the blankets and watches through hooded eyes as James checks the door, looks out the window and then goes to Natasha’s room. 

By the time Tony hears his soft footfalls on the carpet he’s soft and cozy and warm, mostly asleep, but still coherent enough to wrap himself around James when the older man shuts off the lights and climbs into bed. 

Tony nuzzles into James’s throat, inhaling the lingering scent of soap on his skin as he hitches a thigh up and across James’s hips. There’s a moment of nothing and then broad calloused hands cup the back of his head and the crook behind his knee, holding him in place. 

Lips press to his hair and he sighs, smiling softly as he nuzzles closer and presses his lips to James’s throat. 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he does remember the nightmare that wakes him up; Crossbones looms over his mother, hand cruelly around her throat as Tony watches, begging for him to stop, tears hot on his cheeks. 

He screams when her neck is snapped and jolts hard when a bullet slams into his chest, pain radiating out until he’s engulfed in agony. 

When he’s shaken awake, he’s crying and gasping, chest heaving as he tries to breathe, panic rising in his throat with every raw gasp.

“Shh Tony, it’s ok, you’re safe, look at me, Tony,  _ look at me.” _

He follows the voice and the firm hand on his jaw and meets a worried gaze, tempestuous and grey. There’s a shadowy figure behind them and he cries out in alarm, backing away till he falls from the bed, limbs tangled in sheets. 

“Shit, Nat, we’re good, just go, ok?”

He knows that voice.

The figure leaves the room and the door clicks shut behind it and then it’s blessedly quiet, save for the wet rasp of his heaving breaths. 

The figure on the bed shifts and he recoils back instinctively, curling in on himself. 

“Ok, Tony, it’s just me, it’s James.”

_ James _

He knows James.

Whatever noise he makes must be affirmative enough that it allows James to move off the bed and crouch before him, hands hesitant as they reach out towards Tony. 

“C’mon baby, come with me back to bed,” James whispers, low and gentle and Tony can see the soft, reassuring smile he’s wearing in the sliver of moonlight that’s slipped through the cracks of the curtains. 

It’s the softness of that word,  _ baby _ , that finally does it—he launches himself into James’s arms, shaking and covered in a cold sweat, and is immediately engulfed in a warm embrace. 

He barely feels it when James carries him back to bed, just clings tighter when James settles back against the headboard with Tony securely in his lap. 

A broad hand rubs soothing circles into his back, the friction of skin against skin sending shudders through his body. He pants into the crook of James’s neck, breath hot and wet against his skin, fingers tracing the lines of the tattoo across James’s back. 

“Y’re a angel,” he mumbles, lips brushing against James’s skin as he speaks.

James’s chest rumbles softly with laughter and one of his hands works into Tony’s hair, gently rubbing at his scalp. “You’re sweet baby, but I’m no angel. Killers don’t get saved.”

That strikes Tony as  _ wrong _ , but he doesn’t know how to counteract it, so he hums in disagreement and nips at James’s shoulder, nosing into the hollow at his throat insistently. 

“My angel,” he murmurs, kissing the sharp line of James’s collarbones, humming in satisfaction when James inhales unevenly. 

“Tony, baby, you’re...c’mon, you need sleep.”

Hands gently pull Tony away from the warm expanse of skin he’s been nuzzling and kissing and he frowns at James for it, nails digging into his shoulder. 

“I don’t want to sleep,” he says, thumbing at the taut line of James’s throat. His fingers trace up the sharp line of his jaw, shadowed with stubble and then up to his lips, pressing against them for a moment before they slide back and through the short hairs on his neck. 

James eyes are dark and hungry, hands tightening where they’ve landed on Tony’s hips. “You need sleep baby, c’mon,” he urges softly, “come lay down with me.”

Tony shakes his head and leans in until his lips are a breath away from James’s. “I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want to see nightmares. I want you to make me forget about the monsters in the dark.”

He can see James wavering and closes the distance, kissing him with a heady mix of pleading urgency and sweetness until he feels James’s resistance crumble. 

Hands pull on his hips, slotting them even closer together as they kiss, open mouthed and demanding. 

Tony moans softly, trembling as James’s large hands slide down to grip at his ass, fingers pressing in hard to the full swells, a groan echoing between them before it’s swallowed on James’s tongue. 

Tony gasps when James breaks away and nips down his throat, moaning as his teeth sink into the soft flesh beneath his ear, hips canting forward to grind his cock into James’s taut belly. 

“ _ Please _ ,” he gasps, nails scraping over James’s scalp as his lips slide over Tony’s throat, slick and hot. 

James hushes him but then works Tony’s briefs down, one thick arm banding beneath his ass before he’s lifted up effortlessly and stripped of that last scrap of material. 

Tony moans at the blatant display of power and strength, gasping as James’s hands slide against his naked skin, his mouth finding Tony’s once more in a kiss that’s devouring and heated. 

The rasp of James’s stubble against his soft skin burns, deep into the core of him, melting his bones till he’s aching with the heat of it. He whines as James threads his fingers through his hair and pulls, arching Tony’s back so he can mouth down his chest and close his lips around a dusty pink nipple. 

Tony’s hips buck at the sensation, a whimpering cry on his lips as James sucks and licks and bites till he’s nearly incoherent. When the man abandons one nipple for the other, Tony sobs out a gasp at the cool air on his wet skin. 

“That’s it baby, so good,” James murmurs against his skin, eyes dark when he looks up at Tony from where he’s laving attention on Tony’s nipple. 

He sucks a dark mark into the skin and Tony moans louder, unabashed in his pleasure, Natasha’s presence in the next room forgotten. Tony’s never felt anything like this—and while he’s admittedly slept with his fair share of men and women, he’s never felt so close to coming apart so quickly before.

He catches James’s face in his hand, fingers trailing over his cheek as he lifts his face to meet his gaze. “C’mere,” he whispers breathlessly, drawing James back up for a kiss that’s tender and aching. 

“Let’s get these off,” he pants, tugging at the waist of James’s briefs. 

He nods hastily in agreement and they shuffle for a moment, laughing softly when Tony’s elbow catches James in the chest, soothing it with a kiss before he sinks back into James’s lap and rocks his hips forward till their cocks are pressed together.

James makes a low guttural sound and it rumbles through his chest as hard, calloused hands grip onto his hips and maneuver him into grinding his cock into James’s.

“ _ There _ ,” he gasps as James does it again and again, lips sliding against Tony’s in a sloppy kiss that leaves him even more breathless. Tony would normally be embarrassed over how badly he’s leaking, but when James takes their cocks in one large hand and starts jerking them both off, he can’t do more than hang on and pray. 

“Lookit babydoll, look how wet you are for me,” James growls in his ear, nipping at the tender skin he’s already marked and Tony moans, cock jerking in James’s tight grip. 

“For you,” he agrees breathlessly, tilting his chin to give James better access and so he can look down and watch James’s tattooed fingers slide up and down the hot skin of his cock. He whines and rolls his hips as James sucks yet another mark into his skin and Tony has the distant thought that he’s not going to be able to hide them. 

Not that he wants to. He loves James’s hands and teeth leaving marks on his skin, a roadmap of where he’s been on Tony’s body. 

He glances down at James’s cock and moans softly—he wants it inside him so goddamn badly it feels like he’s going to burn up if James doesn’t get inside him. 

Tony kisses James with reckless abandon and need, moaning when he licks into Tony’s mouth and grabs Tony’s ass, fingers sinking into soft flesh so hard he  _ knows  _ he’ll have bruises in the morning. 

He relishes it, rolls his hips harder just to hear James’s moan, hear the way James gasps his name and then a slew of pet names that make his heart clench. 

“Please,” he gasps against James’s lips, “need you inside me.”

James presses his forehead to Tony’s, groaning at the desperate plea and shakes his head, “No lube baby, I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he whispers in an accent so distinctly Brooklyn it makes Tony’s gut curl with need. 

James is normally so refined and softly spoken that hearing him lose himself enough to let his accent slip free is a reward in and of itself. Tony kisses him harder, panting as he whispers, “Fingers, please,  _ anything _ !”

Groaning, James nods and lifts his hand from Tony’s ass, offering his fingers at Tony’s lips, both of them groaning when Tony sucks on them greedily till drool is sliding down his chin. 

“Fuck, doll, look atcha,” James whispers, awed and aroused. His fingers slip free with a wet pop and he abandons their cocks so he can pull Tony’s cheeks apart with one hand, the other slippery and wet against Tony’s hole. 

He convulses at the first touch, biting hard on his cheek to keep from shouting, whimpering instead as James uses the spit to work at his hole. It’s not nearly enough and he rocks back, trying to get a finger inside him, but James stills him with a slap to his ass and an iron grip on Tony’s hip. 

James frowns at him, “Hold on baby,” he orders before pulling his fingers away and bringing them up to Tony’s mouth to get slick again. Tony sucks eagerly and mewls when James pulls them free with a whisper of Tony’s name that sounds like a prayer. 

Heat coils in his belly as James works a finger inside him, his whimpering moans muffled against James’s shoulder, teeth set in his skin as his nails rake over the ink on his back. 

That one finger works him open enough to take the second and Tony can’t help the muffled sob that slips free when James finds his prostate. His cock is slick, aching and hot and when James’s free hand takes it in his grip and presses it together with his own cock, Tony whines high and sharp. 

“Hush doll, I got you, _ I got you. _ ”

Tony nods and sobs out James’s name again, lips and teeth pressed to his skin as his skillful hands work to utterly wreck Tony.  _ Please please please  _ he pants, words hot and wet against James’s skin, teeth leaving half crescents in the ink on his shoulder. 

James groans his name and presses his own kisses to Tony’s shoulder, “C’mon doll, come for me,” he pants, scissoring his fingers inside Tony, a growl of triumph echoing out of his throat when Tony cries out and shoves his hips back, chasing the sensation. 

They’ve both lost the ability to stay quiet, so it’s a good thing the doors connecting their room to Natasha’s are firmly shut. 

Tony gasps and writhes in James’s grip, seeking out his mouth messily, kisses landing on James’s face and nose and cheek before finding his lips and consuming him. 

He gasps James’s name and whines as James’s hands move faster, pleasure coiling around his spine with each rough pass of James’s hand over their cocks. His nails scrape over the wings on James’s back and he feels it coming, the string within him taut and ready to snap. 

Biting James’s lip, he sucks the sting away and presses his brow against James’s, eyes wide and dark, hands clinging to his shoulders, to the wings painted into his skin. 

“My angel,” Tony gasps, watching some emotion he can’t name pass over James’s face before the older man is tilting his chin and drawing him into a kiss. 

Tony shatters when James’s fingers rub insistently against his prostate, the almost too tight grip on their cocks perfect. He sobs James’s name and shakes apart, feeling the hot pulse of come slick the way for James to jerk harder, the aching stimulation nearly too much. 

He kisses James sloppily and whines softly, nudging his nose into James’s cheek, “C’mon, come for me,” he pants, “for me James.”

It seems that’s what James needed because he curls inward, shaking and groaning, cock spilling against Tony’s, his strokes slowing and then stopping as they both gasp and slide together bonelessly. 

James’s fingers slide out of him and Tony winces at the burn left behind. He’ll be sore tomorrow but he can’t bring himself to care, not now that he’s here, sharing this with James. 

It takes a few minutes before either of them are willing to move, but eventually James rises and washes his hands, leaving Tony to collapse face first into the pillows. A warm cloth runs over his body and he stirs, turning his chin so he can watch James’s naked ass as he walks back to the bathroom. 

Time goes a little fuzzy because the next time he opens his eyes James is asleep beside him, broad back facing Tony and he’s given the chance to inspect the scars and tattoo that are on it. He keeps his touch light but pauses at the scar tissue on his shoulder and then the others all across his back that look very much like he was whipped. 

His lips are even more gentle when he presses soft kisses to the marks, but apparently he’s not been soft enough because James makes a sleepy sound and rolls over, eyes heavily hooded with sleep. 

Full lips curl into a sleepy smile and then a broad arm winds around his waist and pulls him close, tucks him in against James’s chest. 

“Go’t sleep angel,” James whispers, throaty and soft, fingers curling through Tony’s hair to rub at his scalp.

Tony wants to correct him; James is the angel, not him, but he’s too tired for more than a soft little sound of acquiescence before he nuzzles into James’s chest and falls asleep. 

Whatever tomorrow brings, they’ll face it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian in this chapter:   
> "v sleduyushchiy raz ya prosto pozvolyu tebe umeret'.” (Next time I’ll just let you die)   
> “V sleduyushchiy raz prosto sleduy moim ukazaniyam.” (Next time just follow my orders) 
> 
> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!!
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter earns the torture tags, along with violence and blood, so heads up.

Tony doesn’t say anything when he wakes up alone the next morning—he doesn’t have to when he sees the way James carefully avoids his touch and his gaze, as distant to Tony as the moon is to the earth. 

He’s only a little surprised to see Steve, Sam, Wanda, Scott, Clint and a man he doesn’t recognize outside when he peers out from behind the curtains, watching as Natasha and James leave behind the faded glamour of their rooms to greet their friends. 

They’re all dressed in black, head to toe, body armor on their torsos and guns holstered to their thighs. Tony watches as James and Natasha are handed matching duffel bags, ducking back with a hissed curse and a flush on his cheeks when James and Steve both turn to look in his direction. 

There’s a knock at the door and then Natasha steps inside, the door shutting behind her with a soft click. She hands him the duffel bag and nods encouragingly, “Clean clothes and body armor for you, little iron man,” she murmurs, almost sounding fond. 

He lifts a brow at her as he pulls out clothes that Sam and Wanda must have brought from his apartment. “Little iron man?” he queries, lips twitching into a hint of a smile. 

She smiles at him softly, eyes a little sad, “Starks are made of iron, yes?” she queries and for a moment Tony can hear it in his father’s gruff voice, taste the blood on his tongue and feel the blow to his face he’d grown so accustomed to. 

He avoids her gaze as he changes, but nods anyway. “That’s what dad always said,” he agrees. 

Nat hums thoughtfully and then hands him the bullet proof vest from the bag, “Still, I think perhaps you are made of something stronger,” she muses, head tilted to the side, eyes narrow and intense and it’s a little like being watched by a leopard. 

He snorts because he doubts that _very_ much—Howard had been perfectly clear on what he thought Tony was worth, and it had barely been enough to keep him from disowning Tony for his “perversions.” 

Still Howard hadn’t minded trotting him out to charm the investors and potential business partners; he might have hated Tony’s sexuality, but he wasn’t above using it to his advantage. 

Tony takes the proffered holsters and straps them to his thighs, checking the chambers of both guns before sliding them into place, the weight of them familiar even if he’s not entirely accustomed to the body armor. 

It’s all Stark tech, all things he’d designed for his father, so he knows it’s quality, but it’s still odd to be dressed like he’s going into battle when he’s used to being in jeans and a ratty T-shirt with a cardigan. 

He’s a nerd and he enjoys learning and creating and discovering far more than he enjoys the violence inherent in James’s profession(both legal and illegal), but he’s not unaware that this is necessary. 

Obadiah has apparently been trying to have him killed and they’re walking into the maw of the beast so to speak, so donning some armor isn’t just a good idea, it’s a necessity if he wants to make it out of this alive. 

He’s surprised when Nat grabs his elbow in a gentle but firm grip, her eyes searching and intent as she rises and peers at him. “Do not mistake James’s distance for indifference little iron man, he is afraid.”

“Why? I can take care of myself,” Tony mutters, ignoring Natasha’s small snort of laughter at the obvious lie. 

“He does not fear _for you_ my malen'kiy zheleznyy chelovek, he is _afraid_ _of you_.”

There’s a brief moment of silence as he stares at her and then barks out a laugh of disbelief, shaking his head, “He could kill me in a heartbeat,” he tells her, voice growing insistent as she smirks, “he’s the head of the biggest gang in the city, a successful businessman and a former sniper. He could end me without even thinking about it.”

Natasha’s smile turns vaguely pitying, and her hand slides down to grasp his tightly, “Da,” she agrees, “he could. But he’d rather put a bullet in himself than to see you hurt by his hand.” 

She reaches up with her free hand and brushes an unruly strand of hair out of his face, eyes sad, “He does not trust easily little iron man, nor does he give his heart away, so he pushes you away, afraid of how you could hurt him.”

Tony’s head is spinning at the implication behind her words. He wants it to be true, but something that’s never let him trust screams that this is a trap— **_don’t trust it, run, run, run._ **

He smiles weakly at Natasha and squeezes her hand where it’s still wrapped around his, “Spasibo Natasha, eto milo s tvoyey storony zabotit'sya obo mne.” 

Natasha’s fine brow lifts. 

“Ty govorish' po-russki?”

“Je parle sept langues,” he replies, French rolling off his tongue as easily as the Russian. 

To his surprise Natasha grins and laughs as she leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek, “You are perfect for each other,” she murmurs, laughter in her voice. 

A knock at the door startles Tony but doesn’t seem to even phase Natasha—she half turns and calls out in something in rapid Russian that Tony only catches half of, but it’s enough to make him laugh softly, and then Steve is sticking his head into the room, cheeks pink with what Tony suspects is embarrassment. 

“Time to go,” he orders, gaze flickering from where Natasha is still holding his hand to the armor and guns strapped to his body and then up to meet Tony’s gaze. 

Steve nods at him and there’s something in his gaze that makes Tony shift uncomfortably—he’s always suspected Steve doesn’t really like him, but being subjected to his intense gaze for however long makes him shift in place, as though he’s back under the scrutiny of his father’s gaze. 

Natasha’s hand slips from his and he follows her outside, smiling weakly at the gathered group, he huffs and struggles when Sam grabs him and wrestles him into a head lock for a vigorous head rubbing that leaves his hair sticking up at odd angles and his cheeks stained with embarrassment.

“Sam, _enough_.”

James’s voice is sharp and cuts through the good natured teasing and horsing around like a whip cracking. Sam sighs softly and releases Tony with a wink and a light shove to his arm before he’s pulled into place beside Wanda, her eyes warm and smile soft as she reaches up to straighten his hair. 

Tony’s gaze connects with James’s over her shoulder and he shudders at the heat in his eyes as they sweep over his body, lingering on the weapons strapped to his thighs before rising to meet Tony’s gaze once more. 

There’s a beat of silence that’s loaded and heavy with things unspoken and then James nods and turns his gaze to the group. “You scouted ahead, tell me the security situation,” he demands quietly.

Scott nods and pulls out a piece of paper, flattening it out onto the hood of the SUV they’re gathered around. “They’ve got guards at all entrances, a biometric lock system and electrified fencing around the whole deal. Whatever they’ve got in there, they don’t want _anyone_ getting close.”

Tony edges forward and looks to Scott, “Tell me about the lock system and fencing,” he murmurs, looking down at the sketch of the grounds. 

“Locking system looks to be both fingerprint and retinal in nature, the fencing is electrified and twelve feet tall with razor wire at the top. They’ve also got snipers on the roof.”

Tony nods and then glances up, finds James’s gaze on him and nearly fumbles the question on his tongue. He swallows hard and manages to spit them out; “Do you have a tool kit in one of the cars?” 

James nods and Tony looks back to the drawing assessing it as Steve speaks, “We should approach from the rear where it’s more heavily wooded. We can get the cars close and use them as rams to break down the fences.”

Tony shakes his head, “No, we can do it quieter than that,” he cuts in, looking up to find them all watching him. “We go in through the front—play it as a surprise inspection by the soon to be CEO of the company.”

Steve lifts a brow, looking skeptical, “They’ll buy that?”

Tony straightens and lifts a brow back, his media persona slipping into place like a well worn glove. “Of _course_ they will,” he scoffs, running a hand through his mop of black hair, messing it up further to look even more like he’s just rolled out of bed, grinning when Steve’s gaze follows the motion. 

“If the pure shock and _awe_ of seeing my gorgeous face doesn’t open the doors, a promise of an under the table bonus _certainly_ will.” He laughs and winks at Steve, laying it on thick to make his point, “Believe me handsome, I’ve talked my way into and out of more delicate situations than this, don’t you worry.”

From beside him he hears Nat laugh softly as Steve flushes, something like surprise on his face. “I—well, yea, I guess that could work.” Steve glances to James and Tony follows the gaze, meeting the older man’s eyes steadily even as his throat feels drier than the Sahara and he itches to squirm. 

James studies him silently, mouth pressed into a tight line before he nods, “Everyone be prepared for anything. Steve you drive Tony—”

“I drive,” Tony cuts in, “I drive or they won’t buy it.”

James scowls at him, but Tony refuses to be cowed. 

“You want in there?” he demands, “then I drive.”

James huffs and his lips press even thinner than before, silvery blue eyes flashing with impatience before he nods sharply, “ _Fine_ ,” he grits out from between clenched teeth, “Steve rides shotgun. Nat and Sam in the back, Wanda, Clint, Scott, Grant and myself in the follow vehicle. Does that work for you _your highness?_ ” 

The words are sarcastic and sharp but for some reason it makes Tony grin—baring too many teeth to really be a smile, and the heat that flashes between them is enough to make Tony’s skin shiver with want. He nods and saves his sarcastic retort for later—after he’s stripped off his body armor and guns and hands them off to Natasha who promptly makes them disappear. 

It’s just the two of them for a moment as the others hustle to arm themselves and talk strategy for if things go bad. Tony steps closer, watching James watch him and then closer still, till they’re nearly chest to chest, James’s eyes darkening as Tony leans in, lips brushing the soft shell of his ear. 

“If I’m your king then I expect you to get on your knees and pledge your loyalty.”

James makes a low sound and Tony shivers when his large hand comes out to squeeze his hip, lips bitten and red, parting to breath out Tony’s name before they’re stepping apart for Steve, his bulky frame coming between them in a clear indicator of his opinion on Tony’s presence. 

Tony holds James’s gaze as he climbs into the SUV, watching as it flickers between Tony and Steve, landing on Steve the longer the other man speaks. James’s brow furrows in displeasure, hands moving sharply between he and Steve as he shakes his head and then walks away. 

Steve stands there for a moment before turning sharply, face troubled and angry, eyes narrowing in annoyance when the land on Tony. To his credit Tony doesn’t antagonize him by waving and smiling cheekily, but it’s a close call. Steve just ducks his chin and climbs into the seat beside Tony before waving a hand at the road before them. 

“Drive, _your highness_.”

Tony does grin this time, throwing the SUV into gear before tearing out of the parking lot, wheels screeching against the asphalt, laughing when Steve grabs the _oh shit_ handle with a low curse. 

* * *

It’s only a ten minute drive to the facility, but with Tony driving it’s five. The guard at the main gate scowls at them until Tony rolls down the tinted window and smiles brightly at him. 

“Hi!” he greets, internally gleeful when the man’s eyes widen at the sight of the infamous Tony Stark. 

“Uhh…”

“I’m here for a surprise inspection of this facility, can you be a dear and let me in?”

The man’s gaze flickers to Steve and the other passengers in the car and Tony smiles widely, “My bodyguard—Uncle Obadiah thought after everything with my parents it would be best to keep me as safe as possible.” 

He lets some of his grief seep into his expression and the man nods slowly, gaze lingering on Steve for another moment before his lips press together in a fine line and presses a button so the gate to the facility slides open. 

“Enjoy your visit Mr. Stark.”

Tony nods and smiles again before gunning it and driving away, shooting Steve a knowing look, “Told you it would work.”

Steve’s mouth narrows and his steely blue gaze turns to the nondescript building ahead of them.

“We’ll see,” he replies darkly, and Tony has to bite back a sigh at the eternal pessimism from the older man. He’s not sure what he’s done to earn Steve’s dislike—he’s wondered more than once if there was something between James and Steve, but everything he’s seen so far only indicates a deep but platonic love between the two men. 

Regardless, he can’t linger on that right now, nor the issue of James’s standoffishness—not when they’re going to walk into what feels like the maw of the beast. 

They park and assemble in front of the doors, and for a moment, Tony allows himself to feel like maybe everything will turn out ok.

Tony, as it turns out, is a goddamn fool. 

* * *

They get fifty feet into the facility before a thin man in a suit shows up to smile at them nervously, hands wringing together as he speaks with Tony in a tone he’s all too familiar with—it’s obsequious and false, placating and Tony _loathes_ it. 

He smiles politely back at the man but notices it when Steve and Natasha move closer to flank him, their forms taut with unspent energy. 

“It’s just that this facility requires a certain security clearance Mr. Stark, and you don’t have it, unfortunately.”

The face the man makes is pinched and narrow with false apology, but Tony’s not dumb enough to think the man actually feels regret about the situation. 

He smiles back, teeth sharp and white and takes a sense of pride at the man’s flinch. 

Tony’s dealt with worse than this man for his whole life—he’s not going to be chased off by something as trivial as security clearances. 

“Right! Well why don’t I just call Obadiah and let him know I’m here and he can decide for us?” Tony suggests lightly, already pulling out his phone as the man’s face pales. 

“No!”

The cry is far too loud for the situation and Tony has to wonder at how thoroughly the man seems terrified of Obie. 

Then again, given what Tony knows about his “uncle” he can’t say he blames the man. 

The man laughs nervously at Tony’s raised brow, “I-I mean, that’s no-not necessary, we wouldn’t want to trouble Mr. Stane,” he stutters, tugging at his shirt cuff as his eyes dart over their group. 

“Great! Then let’s proceed!” Tony says with a bright grin, waving a hand to indicate for the man to lead them. 

The man swallows hard and nods, adjusting his tie before turning and leading them down a long, boring corridor. Tony doesn’t glance over his shoulder like he wants to, just keeps his gaze straight ahead despite the creeping sensation on his neck that tells him he’s being watched. 

He has to trust that Steve and James and the others will keep him safe. 

He spots surveillance cameras every thirty feet, and when they round the corner the man leading them walks hurriedly past a door marked **Section 16** , his head turned firmly forward as though he’s trying to ignore the existence of the door entirely.

It’s _glaringly_ obvious that the man wants this door ignored and for that reason alone Tony stops and points at the door, “So what’s in there?” he asks curiously, watching as the man stutters to a halt, pausing for a long moment before turning and looking at the door Tony’s indicating. 

“Oh _that?_ ” he says with a laugh that’s too high and pinched to be _anything_ but fake; “that’s just storage for parts,” he replies confidently—his watery blue eyes look uncertain and scared, betraying the act he’s desperately trying to put on. 

Tony lifts a brow, “I'd like to see it please.”

The man(Herman? Harry? Tony can’t be bothered to remember) wavers for a moment and then shakes his head, a rueful smile on his face, “I have something I think you’ll enjoy _far_ more Mr. Stark, if you’ll follow me!”

Tony hesitates just a moment, turning his chin to catch Steve’s eye, lifting a subtle brow to convey his unease and receives a careful nod back. 

So he’s not the only one worried here.

Good to know. 

His instincts aren’t the same as the men and women assembled behind him, but he trusts them nonetheless—they kept him alive when his father beat him bloody, he’s not going to start ignoring them now. 

He nods his acquiescence at the weasley man before following him further down the corridor, trying to match his suddenly rapid pace. Nothing about this situation feels right and every instinct within him screams to run away, but he has to know what Obadiah is up to here. 

He owes his mother at least _that_. 

Tony and (Humphrey?) turn the corner and a pair of metal doors slide open in front of them, revealing a large industrial room—Tony can see rows and rows of equipment for what looks like construction of another arc reactor, only smaller. 

His mind is instantly abuzz with possibilities and questions—namely, if that’s what this facility is for, why is it off the records of SI’s holdings? 

Tony steps forward cautiously and then pauses, which is predictably, when things go _completely_ to shit. 

His heart lurches when the doors slam shut behind he and the man, effectively cutting him off from Steve and the others with a harsh sound that reverberates through the room. 

Tony whirls and stares at the man who’d led him here, stomach dropping when he realizes they’re not alone. His blood turns to ice when he sees a figure stepping out from the shadows, horribly familiar.

_Crossbones_

The masked figure backhands him and he tastes blood, hot and coppery in his mouth. 

“Nice to see you again Tony,” the man says, cold humor in his voice chilling Tony down to his bones. 

“Can’t really say the same,” he spits out, along with a mouthful of blood, the punch in the gut for his smart ass comment sucking the air from his lungs. 

As he’s bent over gasping for air, there’s a sharp bite at his neck, low, cruel laughter in his ears as something hot and painful spreads through his veins. 

And then, nothing. 

* * *

James stares in horror at the solid metal doors separating him from Tony, an icy rage creeping into his veins with each breath he takes. 

He turns on his heel and points to Scott, “Go with Nat and Clint and get this door open, _now!”_ he orders harshly, jaw clenching as bitter fear threatens to choke him.

_Tony, he has to get to Tony._

_Christ_ , if something happens to Tony...he swallows hard against the bile in his throat and clenches his fists, willing himself to calm. 

The trio takes off and he looks to Wanda and Sam, “Go, guard the corridor,” he orders before turning to Steve and Grant, “We get through this door, we need to be ready for anything, understood?” 

They both nod at him and while he knows Steve wants to say something, he wisely keeps his mouth shut, something James is _profoundly_ grateful for right now. 

He can’t hear anything happening through the door so he has _no_ idea if Tony is ok—something he is _deeply_ unhappy with. This whole thing is one huge FUBAR and he’s itching to put bullets into flesh till he gets his baby back. 

For now, he has to wait till Scott gets into the security system and figure out what the _fuck_ is going on. 

Before any of that can happen though, he hears the rapid approach of bootsteps on concrete—four sets if he’s not mistaken—and then a pair of canisters bounce down the hallway and he has a brief moment to process before they explode. 

The first is a flash bang—the blinding light and explosive sound of it echoing loudly in the confined space of the hallway. He groans as his eardrums vibrate and a high ringing noise fills his ears, eyes screwed shut as the bright afterburn glows against his lids. 

The pain of it is grounding, familiar. He’s been here before, endured this agony for a lot less than someone he lov—

The second canister goes off; noxious gas filling the air that has Steve, Grant and he retching and coughing, slumping to the ground to try and seek out fresh air.

He hears Wanda and Sam in the distance, hears gunfire and pulls his own weapon, trying to see through the tears in his eyes and the smoke, but before he can take aim at anything, there’s a gun to his head, nestled into the hollow at the nape of his neck, the kiss of the metal cool on his skin. 

“If you want Stark to live, drop it.”

He has half a breath to realize that the voice is familiar before pain explodes in his skull and everything goes black as Steve cries his name. 

* * *

James is intimately familiar with pain—he’s learned all its nuances, all the little ways it can sink into you and leave you deeply marked, the lingering kiss of it against the mind long after the physical sensation is gone. 

He’s felt it all, and doled it out in return, made people scream and cry and beg, so when he wakes and sees Crossbones toying with a tray full of sharp objects, he inhales slowly, preparing himself for the agony that’s to come. 

And then Rumlow moves and he can see that he’s not alone—Tony is tied to a chair behind Rumlow, blood trickling down his brow, eyes dazed and unfocused. 

“Tony,” he rasps, straining forward in his bindings, trying to get Tony to look at him, to recognize that he’s not alone in this hell. His beautiful brown eyes are slow to lift, and when they do, James curses softly—his pupils are blown. 

Whatever they drugged him with is going to make this all the worse when the torture does start—James has felt the slow burn of Scopolamine in his own veins(Rumlow’s favorite of his many tools) making it impossible to hide the truth, stripping him bare before his captors. 

He works up a smile for Tony and tries to look reassuring, even as fear grips his throat and makes it hard to speak. “It’ll be ok Tony, just look at me,” he instructs, nodding when Tony makes a soft questioning sound, “Just me Tony, look at me.”

Rumlow snorts out a nasty laugh and backhands James with the armored part of his hand, the weight of the armored knuckles snapping his head back, copper filling his mouth. He spits blood from his mouth and turns his attention back to Tony, smiling at him through the pain, “It’s ok Tony,” he lies, hoping against hope that someone from his team is still alive and coming to rescue them. 

“You always were a soft touch Barnes. I thought I broke you of it, but it looks like I’ll just have to remind you that a good soldier has no need for softness.” Rumlow pulls his mask off, revealing a mess of burned and twisted flesh and James feels a sick thrill of pleasure rush through him at what he had done to Rumlow’s face so many years ago. 

He thought he’d killed the man, and then he’d shown up in New York like a ghost, haunting James, _hunting_ him. 

“D-don’t,” Tony whispers, leaning forward in his restraints when Rumlow picks up a set of pliers, holding them up for inspection under the fluorescent lights. Rumlow shoots him a glance and shakes his head, smirking as he twists with ease and punches Tony, the blow knocking his head askew, blood dripping from his mouth on a strand of drool. 

James growls and seethes, “Leave him _alone_ Rumlow. He’s innocent.”

Rumlow laughs loudly, throwing back his head, and James can see the madness in his eyes when he finally looks back at him. “Isn’t that what makes it sweeter Barnes? Tainting that innocence? Watching it corrupt and darken?”

Rumlow stalks over and braces his hands on James’s forearms, hot breath washing over his face as the man stares him in the eye. “Is that why you took up this sweet little thing?” he gloats, “I always knew you were sick, but even for you, this is low.” 

He tilts his head, lips nearly brushing James’s cheek, words whispering against his skin. “You wanna drag him down into the muck with us? Turn that pretty little prince into a monster like us?”

Rage surges into James’s veins and he lunges, teeth closing around Brock’s ear, so close that there’s no time for him to escape. Blood wells in his mouth as Brock howls in pain and he clamps his teeth down harder, growling as he tears through flesh. 

There’s an echoing bang and then agony in his thigh and Brock is stumbling back, cursing and holding a hand up to his mangled ear, blood streaming down his throat. Brock lifts the .45 he’s already shot James with, hate gleaming in his eyes. 

“That’s enough.”

The voice is low and rumbling and familiar. 

Tony’s head turns, seeking out the voice, and James can see when the younger man realizes who it is, just as he steps into Tony’s line of vision. 

Obadiah Stane is not a small man—he’s tall and broad chested with meaty hands and a firm jaw—but standing over Tony’s much smaller frame, he looks like a veritable giant. 

“Obie?”

Tony sounds young, younger than he is, and confused. His gaze is dizzy and bemused, lips parted and bloody as he wheezes unsteadily. 

“Oh Tony, what a mess, huh?” Obadiah asks softly, sounding vaguely amused. “If you had just kept your nose outta this I could have let it go. But _no_ , Tony always has to be right, has to prove he’s the best, has to _know_ everything.” 

Obadiah laughs scoffingly and shakes his head, one of his meaty hands wrapping around Tony’s delicate jaw, tilting his face this way and that, studying the bruises and blood on his pale gold skin. 

“What brought you here Tony?” 

Tony’s gaze is unfocused and glassy as he gazes up at Obadiah, struggling to form an answer. Before he has a chance, Obadiah slaps him, open palm, the crack of it loud in the room, and James watches, furious as the blow leaves Tony’s cheek pink. 

Tony gasps and pants, head lolling on his shoulders and James growls in frustration, lurching against the bonds holding him in place. “Hey! Leave him alone you sonuvabitch,” he hisses, “if you’re gonna hit someone, hit me.”

Obadiah releases Tony and turns to James, smiling faintly, “Don’t you worry soldier, your chance to talk is coming.” He smirks at James, “You’ll have a chance to serve your country once more, I promise.” 

That...does not sound good. 

Obadiah waves a hand to the contraption that James is locked into, “Get it ready and get the serum. We need to get him under control.” He spares a glance at Tony and hums thoughtfully, “Maybe we won’t need to kill you after all Tony, maybe you’d like to be my little soldier?” he suggests, cupping Tony’s chin to lift his head and peer into his eyes. 

James growls and is rewarded with a right hook to his jaw that sends him reeling before a hand clamps around the gunshot in his thigh and agony shoots through him. It’s raw and hot and he grits his teeth against it, refusing to sob like his body demands of him. He can do this, he can breathe through the pain, in...out...in…..out

Rage fills his veins when he looks up at Rumlow, teeth gritted into a violent, bloody grin. 

“I’m going to take every inch of pain that you put him through out of you,” he promises and then turns his gaze to Obadiah, “you too,” he murmurs. 

Rumlow slaps him and then drives a stiletto into his shoulder, directly into the axillary nerve, and he can’t hold back the scream that rips out of him. The pain sears through him and he sobs, biting back the pleas for it to stop. Because if it’s not him, it’s going to be Tony they focus on and he can’t let that happen. 

He’ll take it all, all the pain and agony, so Tony doesn’t have to. 

“I’m gonna bury you face down in the ground when I’m done with you,” he growls, shouting in pain when Rumlow pulls the stiletto out and fresh blood wells from the puncture wound. 

He hears Rumlow laugh and something whirring to life behind him, and then the chair he’s in reclines and the restraints tighten as some kind of head restraint lowers. Rumlow forces a mouth guard in between his teeth, slapping him when he tries to bite again, and then he’s stepping back with a smug look that chills James’s blood. 

“James Barnes,” Obadiah murmurs, “after this, you’ll answer to your old title, won’t you soldier?” 

Before he can answer the machine pulses and then, James truly learns what agony means. 

He thought he knew. 

He thought he understood pain. 

But this….

“That’s it, _scream_ ,” Rumlow hissess in his ear, the malevolent glee in his voice taunting and dark. 

James screams. 

Tears pour down his face as he’s turned inside out, as he’s unmade, broken and pulled apart till there’s nothing left but a shell of the man who used to exist. 

He’s injected with something. 

It burns. 

The machine quiets and so too do the screams. 

When he blinks and clears his vision, it’s filled with four figures. 

Rumlow has a journal, red, like the blood on his skin. 

The words he speaks don’t make sense, but they trigger something inside him, an urge to submit, to let someone else take control. 

He tries to shake it off but with each moment that passes, he feels more and more of himself slip away. 

He tries to hold onto himself, to remember who he is…

_Longing_

He is James…

_Rusted_

...Buchanan…

_Furnace_

...Barnes….

_Daybreak_

...the….

_Seventeen_

...White…

_Benign_

….Wolf…

_Nine_

He….

_Homecoming_

….is….

_One_

...the….

_Freight car_

….Winter Soldier 

“Soldat.”

_Ready to comply_

It falls from his lips so easily. 

He wants to comply. 

To stop the pain.

The shackles around his body loosen and then slip away, leaving him free, but he doesn’t move. 

He hasn’t been instructed to move. So he stays. 

“Stand soldier.”

He stands.

“Take this.”

He accepts the object given to him and glances down at it. 

Beretta, 9mm. 

He knows how to use this. 

It’s easy. 

Point

Shoot

“Kill Tony Stark, Soldier.”

He has his orders. 

He lifts the gun and points it at the young man in the chair, finger resting easily on the trigger. He squeezes slowly and—

“James... _please…_ ”

The young man speaks. 

It’s... _familiar_. 

He knows the Soldier? 

He can’t….he doesn’t know. 

“Kill Tony Stark _now_ Soldier.”

The young man looks up at James, wide brown eyes pleading, lips smeared with blood, and the Soldier feels... _something_. 

“James, _please_ ,” he pleads, “it’s me...your angel.”

His hand does not quaver, there is no indecision in his body when he fires. 

* * *

Tony sobs as James is tortured, as the machine he’d helped create to treat PTSD and trauma is used to destroy the man he loves. 

Whatever they gave him to make him talk doesn’t prevent him from feeling the agony of watching James slip further and further away from him as he’s brainwashed. Obadiah stands behind him, large hand wrapped around the nape of his neck, holding him in place and forcing him to watch. 

“I worried when I put that hit out on you that I’d be killing the golden goose,” Obadiah whispers in his ear as James screams. “But you had one last egg to give, didn’t you?” he laughs, “this machine is incredible Tony. But as usual you wanted to keep it for _sentimental_ reasons,” he scoffs, “when the applications are so much bigger than your mind could imagine.” 

He squeezes hard on Tony’s neck, eliciting a low whimper and laughs. “You wanted to use it to deal with your _daddy issues_ and I’ve made some improvements you see—now anyone can be erased and turned into the perfect soldier. This is how we’re going to change the world Tony, not with your emotional _weakness_ , but with strength and power.”

Tony lets his head loll to the side and glares at Obadiah, “Fuck you,” he spits, hate surging through his veins. Fire burns in his belly and even though the drugs have muddled his head, he holds onto this one thing—this hate that burns brighter than a sun. 

The machine slows and so too do the screams that have shredded Tony’s heart in his chest. He thinks it must be a bloody lump, caged in by his ribs, and if anyone were to crack them open they wouldn’t know what it was. 

“Oh Tony, I understand now why your father found it necessary to discipline you the way he did,” Obadiah murmurs and then Tony’s gasping and gagging—Obadiah’s fist knocks the air out his lungs, bruising his gut once, and then again and he’s vomiting, choking. 

He sobs as Obadiah slaps him and then empties a bottle of water over his head, blinding him. Blinking away the water and crying softly, he gasps for air, each inhale burning as his ribs throb and ache. 

Watches as they take control of James, order him to stand and then hand him a gun. 

James’s gaze is vacant when it turns to him and Tony can’t help the sob that slips past his lips. The man standing before him might wear James’s face, but Tony doesn’t recognize him. 

“Kill Tony Stark, Soldier.”

He doesn’t want to die, doesn’t want to have this be the last thing he sees in this world—James looking at him like’s he’s a mission and not a person. 

“James... _please…_ ” he pleads, leaning forward even as Obadiah grips the back of his neck to hold him in place. Something shifts in stormy blue eyes that meet his and hope flutters in his chest, a tiny winged thing, delicate as a butterfly. 

Rumlow growls and stalks closer to James, “Kill Tony Stark _now_ Soldier.”

Tony stares up at James, wide brown eyes pleading, lips smeared with blood, and tries one last thing. If he’s going to die, he’s going to make sure he’s tried _everything_ before he goes. 

“James, _please_ ,” he pleads, “it’s me...your angel.”

James’s hand does not quaver, there is no indecision in his body when he fires. 

* * *

Steve pants, gripping at where Grant had shot him, growling in pain as he lurches around the corner, firing at the black clad security forces flooding the halls. The lights flicker and then shut off, followed quickly by the eerie red glow of backup lighting, lending a hellish hue to the fight. 

He fires and then lunges, slamming a man into the wall before firing again, directly into center mass, tossing him aside without a thought as he fights his way toward his wife. 

She’s surrounded by a trio of men and women, her blades shining in the light, stained with spilt blood and for a heady moment he’s back to the day he met her, ferocious and wild and terrifying. He fires and empties the mag, taking out two of the men attacking her, leaving just the woman who is quickly dispatched with a blade to the throat. 

There’s no time to celebrate, more are coming. 

He hears gunfire in the distance, shouting too, and he recognizes Sam’s voice and Wanda’s too. 

Nat hands him a spare clip. His hands move quickly, shucking the empty one, tossing it aside as he slams the full one into the gun and chambers a round, firing it in the next breath as more security round the corner. 

They’re losing. 

If they can’t get the door open to that room that he’s heard screaming coming from, they’re all going to die here. 

* * *

“C’mon Scott, we don’t have time.”

“Do _you_ want to do this?”

“No.”

“Then shut the hell up.”

Scott’s fingers fly over the keyboard, breath hissing between his teeth as he works to bypass the security system and take control. He hears the gunfire in the distance, knows that his family is in danger, but he can’t think about that right now, he _has_ to get that door open. 

The image on the security screen flips to inside the room and his hands pause, breath catching when he sees James in some kind of contraption, the lines of his body taut as he screams silently—and some part of him thanks a god he doesn’t believe in for the lack of sound accompanying the video. 

“Hurry up Scott.”

He doesn’t snark back, just nods and goes back to work, sweat shining on his brow as he races to save his friends, his _family_. 

* * *

The lights in the room shut off and a moment later it’s flooded in blood red light, perhaps to match the blood on the floor, Tony thinks. 

He’s trembling in his seat, watching as James fights Rumlow. Obadiah curses and hurries to grab a knife from the tray of tools Rumlow had been using on James, and Tony’s pretty sure he’s not going to use it to free him. 

The look in Obadiah’s eye pretty much confirms that suspicion, the knife glinting in the light as the older man towers over him. “I’m sorry it had to end this way Tony, I thought maybe you could join me in my plan, but I see now that you’re too small minded for that. You’ll never be the man your father was, the man the world needs. But I can be that man,” he tells Tony as he lifts the blade, a rueful expression on his face. 

Tony winces and closes his eyes, bracing for the blow. 

A gunshot echoes through the room and Tony’s eyes fly open, shock flowing through him when he sees red staining the fabric of Obadiah’s shirt. 

Obadiah looks shocked too, mouth open and eyes wide in surprise, the hand not clutching the knife falling to press against his abdomen where red is spreading rapidly. 

He falls to one knee and groans, pressing on the wound as James kicks Rumlow in the face and then fires the gun in his bloody fist, the body at his feet jerking as bullets slam into flesh. Tony winces and watches with a sick feeling in his stomach, but he doesn’t look away. 

James turns away from Rumlow and strides over to Obie, murder in every line of his body, eyes glowing with rage as his fists fly. Obie’s head snaps to the side, blood and spit flying out to spray on the floor at Tony’s side. There’s a sick wet sound as James’s fist slams into his face over and over again till the hand he’s wrapped around Obadiah’s throat is the only thing holding him up. 

“James,” he calls weakly, voice hoarse from crying, but it’s enough to pierce whatever blood lust is driving James because he tosses Obadiah aside and turns his fierce gaze to Tony, pausing for a moment before he strides forward and begins working the restraints on Tony loose. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, tilting his head to meet James’s gaze, noting the way his hands hesitate for a moment before resuming their steady work. He’s free moments later, but as he rises, a shot rings out and he watches James’s eyes widen in shock before he collapses into Tony, breathing wetly. 

Tony stumbles under his weight and holds the larger man up as best as he can, cursing as his own ribs protest the additional weight. James groans and then lurches away, toward where Rumlow is pointing a gun at him, walking directly into his line of fire. 

Tony wants to scream he’s so scared, heart racing so fast he feels sick, watching as yet another bullet pierces James’s torso. 

James empties his gun and Tony watches in horror as Rumlow’s skull explodes, painting the ground in red and white and grey. 

James’s large form sways and then collapses, the gun skittering out of his grip and Tony runs to his side, crying out softly as he tries to leverage the larger man to his feet, begging him to get up, “Please James, we have to go, come on, _please_.”

A rough laugh from behind him reminds him that Obadiah is _not_ in fact dead—and why can’t anyone just fucking die like they’re _supposed_ to he thinks wildly. A hand catches his and something presses into it, hard and cold and he looks down to find James handing him a gun, his storm grey eyes clear and wide. 

Tony grips it tight and then turns to Obadiah, hands cold and clammy. 

“Why Obie, _why_ would you do this to us? You were family.”

Obadiah laughs wetly, spits out a glob of blood and bares his teeth at Tony. “You were never my family you worthless little fag. You were a burden on your family and a means to an end. You’ve outlived your usefulness.”

Tony stares at Obadiah and lets the words sink in, the rage within him turning icy. He’s calm and cool and collected as he lifts the gun and points it at the man he’d once called “uncle” and now has no words left for. 

Obadiah has the gall to laugh at Tony, “Come on Tony, you’re too weak to pull that trigger. You’ll never be able to live with killing me.”

Tony fires. 

Obadiah’s eyes widen in surprise before his body slumps back, lifeless. 

“You’d be surprised what I can live with,” he whispers, voice hoarse and low. 

The doors behind him slide open and his fingers twitch around the grip of the gun, relief shooting through him a moment later when Steve, Nat, Clint, Wanda and Sam storm into the room looking bloodied and worse for the wear, but most importantly, _alive._

Nat catches him as he sways and before his vision goes completely dark he sees Steve and Sam scoop James up, his large form unmoving between them. 

* * *

Tony rouses when the sound of sirens fill the air and watches, numb from shock as men and women in uniforms marked with FBI drag men and women out of the building in handcuffs. There’s bodies too, and he thinks that he should probably feel something when Obadiah’s is one of them, but he suspects that he won’t feel anything for some time. 

There will be plenty of time later for that. 

The ambulance that holds James tears down the road, lights and sirens blaring, taking everything that Tony holds dearest further and further away from him. 

He feels….empty. 

Alone. 

Natasha squeezes his arm gently and smiles at him tiredly when he looks up at her from his seat on the ground, mindless of the gravel digging into his skin. Everything is numb, for now. 

She offers him a hand; “Come little iron man,” she murmurs, “we must go to our men.”

He takes it and suddenly, he’s not so alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian and French in this chapter:  
> malen'kiy zheleznyy chelovek little iron man  
> Spasibo Natasha, eto milo s tvoyey storony zabotit'sya obo mne.” (Thank you Natasha, it’s kind of you to care about me.)  
> “Ty govorish' po-russki?” (You speak Russian?)  
> “Je parle sept langues,” i speak seven languages
> 
> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!!
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!


	6. Chapter 6

War rages in the city for six months; bloody and violent and dangerous to anyone who calls themselves Hydra. The Avengers root out their bases, detaining for the cops to handle those who surrender and killing those who refuse. 

Rumors fly about The Incident (as Tony thinks of it), about the missing head of the White Wolf group, about the mysterious James Barnes, but no story is ever solid, it’s all smoke and ash on the wind. 

The headlines speculate wildly over the death of Obadiah Stane, even after the announcement from the FBI that Stane had been murdered by the Hydra operatives he’d been in business with over a deal gone wrong. 

Tony though, Tony knows better. 

When he’s asked what he wants done with Stane’s remains Tony contemplates it for a moment and then tells the lawyer to have them buried in an unmarked grave in the remotest part of the world he can find. 

He can tell the man isn’t sure if he’s serious, but  _ oh,  _ how he is. 

Obie had been one of the last of his supposed family, and Tony would gladly trade him in now for just one more day with his mother.

He and the FBI, along with the SI board, had agreed to keep Obadiah’s treachery against Tony and his parents from the media. He’s not sure how long that will last with reporters like Christine Everhart eager to make a name for themselves, but he appreciates the effort nonetheless. 

The board tends not to question him now—after saving the company from ruin with his innovations in clean energy, cell phones, AI security, and a new line of medical products aimed at helping heal the wounds of physical and mental trauma, Stark Industries is back on top. 

Swiping a hand through his hair, Tony sighs and leans back in his chair, swiveling to stare out the window at the early spring rain that’s falling. It plinks against the glass, blurring as it streaks downward, washing the building clean.

It’s a grey and ugly day, but Tony feels hope. 

He glances at his watch and smiles. 

“JARVIS? I’m taking the rest of the day, if anyone needs me, you know what to do.”

“Indeed sir,” the AI responds in his familiar British cadence that always makes Tony’s throat catch a little. 

He’d used the home videos he has of his old butler Edwin Jarvis to integrate with his AI so the voice, tonation and cadence all matched perfectly. 

If he could bring Edwin back he would, but even Tony isn’t smart enough to reverse death. 

The elevator ride down to the garage is swift and then he’s in his Spyder, engine roaring as he drives out past the city limits and into the greenery beyond. 

It’s a beautiful drive, especially this time of year, even with the rainy grey day. He slows as he turns onto the family estate and rolls down the window to inhale the scent of green growing things. 

When he pulls up he sees the new recruits on a training run, led by a stoic faced Natasha and a grinning Clint. 

Gravel crunches under his feet as he slams the door behind him, pausing as Natasha falls out and slows to a walk, face barely gleaming with sweat. 

He grins and opens his arms, secretly pleased when she embraces him warmly, the warm scent of sweat and rain on her skin. He throws an arm around her shoulder as they walk to the house, “How’s it going Nat?” he asks conversationally.

He doesn’t ask what he really wants to know, because walls have ears and all that, but he knows she takes his meaning. 

“Good. We have eight ready to graduate the program and twelve new trainees just starting.”

He nods, “Good, we need good people,” he murmurs, “we lost too many this year.”

She shifts subtly under his arm and nods sharply, “Da, our losses were... _ unfortunate _ ,” she agrees, as though that covers the entirety of finding out Hydra had infiltrated the Avengers, White Wolf Group and Stark Industries. 

Hydra had done their best to decimate their ranks in the war that had followed the incident at the facility.

Grant Ward had been killed by Steve for his betrayal. 

John Garett had been injured and turned over to the police. 

Jasper Sitwell had been frog marched out of SI and into the welcoming embrace of the FBI, along with Ian Quinn. 

Senator Stern’s fall from glory had burned across headlines for weeks, with even the president of the United States chiming in to express his regrets that a traitor to the nation had existed under his nose for years. 

Businessmen, politicians, people of influence all across the nation and world were caught in Hydra’s downfall, revealing that they had been more neo-nazi cult bent on world domination and ethnic cleansing than just a gang looking to rule New York’s seedy underbelly. 

There were so many more men and women from inside Stark Industries that had been revealed as Hydra, and Tony knows all their names. He dreams of their faces, screams himself awake most nights remembering what Hydra has taken from him, from  _ all _ of them. 

As they walk up the front steps of the mansion, Natasha steps out from under his arm and stares at him for a long moment before exhaling, the shift in her expression subtle, but now that he’s grown to know her, he sees it. 

“Today,” she sighs, “was  _ not  _ a good day.”

He doesn’t have to ask and she doesn’t say more because they both know what she’s talking about. He nods and reaches out to squeeze her arm gently, his smile a little crooked and sad, “They won’t all be,” he assures her. 

She surprises him then by draping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss against his brow. 

It’s surprisingly sweet from a woman he knows could kill him in a heartbeat if that’s what she wanted.

“You are a good man  malen'kaya ptitsa,” Natasha murmurs, squeezing his shoulder briefly before she steps back and nudges him toward the door. “Go,” she urges, “it will be a better day with you here.”

He nods and turns away, steps light as he hurries inside. 

Most of the mansion has been converted into the new headquarters for the White Wolf group and, by extension, the Avengers. The west wing of the building though, that’s Tony and James’s residence and strictly off limits to everyone save the inner circle. 

Tony passes through the halls, nodding to Sharon as he passes by her office, waving hello when Scott bounces down the hall after an irritated looking Janet.

It gets quieter the further he goes and some of the stress in his shoulders starts to release. The soft carpeting under his feet is something his mother had picked out, rich and elegant and beautiful. 

The whole mansion had been redone over the years, and while Tony would have gladly burnt it to the ground a long time ago, he’d decided that turning it into a headquarters for a business that operated as a mob front would be the perfect way to stick it to his deceased bastard of a father. 

His first stop is into the kitchen, smile growing when he sees Anna rolling out pie dough, flour on her apron and cheek, graying hair up in a bun, swaying as she hums along to the music playing softly in the background. 

“Anna darling, light of my life, what are you making for me?” he calls teasingly, grinning when she doesn’t even look up to speak to him. 

“For  _ you? _ Nothing! For that lovely man of yours, a nice peach and blueberry pie.”

Tony hums in appreciation and hops up onto the counter a little to the left of where she’s working, grinning when it earns him a stern look paired with a twitching of lips that might almost be a smile. 

He reaches out and gently wipes the flour off her cheek and she softens, eyes warming and wrinkling around the edges. “How are you my love?” 

She’s quietly spoken and calm, as always. She and Jarvis had been his bulwarks in the storm of his youth and now that Edwin is gone, she’s all he has left of people he would willingly call family.

For that, he leans in and kisses her cheek, inhaling the scent of freesias on her skin—she’s worn it since he was a child and gifted her a bottle of perfume with all the money he had from his piggy bank. It had been cheap—his father wouldn’t allow him to spend any  _ real _ money on  _ the help _ —but she had tears in her eyes when she had thanked him and so, every year since he’s bought her a new bottle. 

“I’m ok,” he replies softly, reaching out to steal a piece of dough—earning himself a slap on the back of the hand and a sharp look. He grins, undeterred, and pops it into his mouth. “Things are going well at work—the board finally seems to be trusting me,” he tells her, “we’re rolling out clinics all across New York as part of our Healthy Minds, Healthy World initiative this month.”

“Your mother would be proud of you Anthony, I am too,” she murmurs as she places the dough into a pie pan, hands steady despite her arthritis. When Edwin had been alive he would massage her hands with a special cream Tony had created to help ease the pain. Now though, she’s alone. 

He flushes and looks away, pleased but embarrassed. She’s all the family he has left from his youth and he loves her so dearly. Swallowing hard, he nods and looks up at her through his lashes, “I’m glad I can be someone you’re proud of,” he murmurs. 

She smiles serenely, “Well, as long as you keep taking care of that wonderful man of yours, I’ll be proud of you.”

“I hear he had a rough day,” Tony says, not really a question, but she nods anyway, brow creasing gently. 

“Therapy really took it out of him,” she agrees. “He needs a good meal and a hot bath and a shoulder to lean on,” she tells him with a pointed look. “I can help with the meal, but the rest is up to you.”

Tony nods and tries not to blush; Anna would never be so crude as to tell him to go make love to his boyfriend, but he knows her implication is along those lines. “What’s for dinner then?” he asks instead of replying and she shoots him a wry grin, eyes twinkling with mirth. 

“Roasted chicken with lemon and rosemary, braised squash and sprouts, and pie for dessert.”

Tony hums in delight and leans in for another kiss to her cheek, “You’re an angel Anna.” 

To his delight she flushes and swats his thigh gently, making a shooing motion, “Get off my counters you heathen and help an old woman.”

Chuckling in delight, he hops down and rolls his sleeves up, washes his hands and sets about helping her with meal prep. When everything is roasting, she waves him off, but not before loading up a tray with fresh sliced fruit, water, and a few of James’s favorite cookies. 

Tony’s timed it just right so that when he pushes open the door to their suite, James isn’t quite back yet from his weekly physical therapy appointment. 

He checks his phone and realizes that he’ll also have a check up in medical after physio, so Tony has a few minutes to run down to see Steve before James is back. 

Tony knows how much James hates being poked and prodded, but after barely surviving his injuries and the trauma caused to his brain, there had been no choice for any of them in how his recovery was handled. 

He hurries back to the very end of the wing, slipping down the stairs and then around the corner to the office that Steve and Natasha share. He knocks twice and then opens the door, offering a polite smile to the man behind the desk. 

Steve looks frazzled and exhausted and Tony feels a pang of shared grief for the older man. As hard as this has been on Tony he knows it’s been just as hard on Steve, if not harder. 

Tony takes the seat across from him and lifts a brow, “Your lovely wife tells me today wasn’t a good day?” he asks mildly.

Steve nods and rubs a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “He had a flashback during his therapy session and attacked Dr. Morgan. She’s ok—she’s a strong lady,” he murmurs, smiling weakly, “Her experience with PTSD and trauma in veterans means this isn’t the first time she’s experienced this.”

Tony nods and Steve continues, “But you know Bucky, he blames himself for what those monsters did to him. He thinks he should be able to control it.”

Tony sighs heavily and scrubs at his own face tiredly, nodding. “I’m closer to making their machine work in reverse—another few weeks and tests and we’ll be able to help him piece himself back together again. I’m  _ so  _ close,” he whispers, voice raw. 

He’d give his right arm if it meant healing James, if it could change what had happened. 

Tears burn behind his lids and he hears Steve shift and then a moment later a huge hand is covering the nape of his neck and he can feel the heat of Steve’s body next to his. 

“We all know how hard you’re working Tony, believe me,” Steve murmurs, “Sam and Wanda and Clint all keep me updated on how many late nights you work, trying to find a way to fix this. But it’s not all on you Tony. You’re part of our family and we’re all here to help carry the load,” he whispers, voice thick and emotional. 

The hand on the nape of his neck squeezes, firm and reassuring, and Tony lets out a shuddering breath, nodding slowly. When he finally looks up he sees that Steve’s eyes are too bright and sad and filled with affection. 

They share a shaky smile and eventually Steve lets him go and sits back in his chair with a sigh. 

“We’ve got a recruit ready to graduate I think would be a good addition to your protection detail,” Steve tells him. “He’s got degrees in mechanical and bioengineering and is nearly as smart as you.”

Tony’s brows rise, “And he wants to be in personal protection?” 

Steve shrugs, “Says he does,” he murmurs, “but it’s up to you. When you wanna meet him?” 

Tony checks his watch and frowns, “Tomorrow morning. I have to head back, James is probably on his way back from medical by now.”

“Course, yea, go. I was thinking we should start doing weekly check ins with Buck on the state of the business and the  _ other  _ business. Reintegrate him slowly and all.”

Tony nods and stands, “That’s a great idea. Tomorrow, 9am, and then the new kid at 10. Let Anna know we’ll need breakfast for four,” he instructs, as always a little surprised by how easily Steve takes orders from him now. 

Something about saving his best friend’s life seems to have won Tony the man’s affection, so when Steve surges to his feet and embraces tony before he can make his exit, he doesn’t stiffen and push him away like he might have once. 

Instead, he hugs back, grinning when he pulls back and pokes Steve’s still rock hard belly, “Enjoying Anna’s cooking a bit too much huh?” he teases, earning himself an outraged sound and a scowl. 

“Da, husband, you grow  _ soft, _ ” a lilting voice teases from behind him. 

Tony grins as Natasha slips into the room with all the grace of a ballerina and the stealth of a practiced killer. “See, I’m not the only one who thinks it!” he teases laughingly.

Steve scowls playfully, even as Natasha winds an arm around his trim waist. “You’re both terrible people and I’m telling Anna on you,” he threatens. 

Natasha laughs lightly and says something in rapid Russian that Tony pretends  _ very hard  _ not to understand because otherwise,  _ ew.  _ Steve blushes and Tony backs out of the room as Natasha leans up, Steve leaning down to meet her for a kiss that’s passionate and deep. 

_ Blegh married people are gross _ he thinks with a wry twist to his mouth.

He hurries back up to their suite and kicks off his shoes. Tony wiggles his toes against the soft carpet and putters around, tidying up the laundry strewn on the floor, remaking the bed, and then taking a seat back out in the sitting area. 

He scrolls through his emails, rolling his eyes at the concerns he’s  _ still _ getting from the board over the new direction he’s taking the company in. 

He fires off a few replies and then looks up when the suite door opens and ushers in a frazzled and exhausted looking James. The older man pauses on the threshold and stares at him, grey eyes stormy and hesitant. 

In the initial three months, James had struggled to remember anything of his past life—everything came in broken flashes that often made no sense and only served to frustrate him. Now though, it’s rare for James not to remember Tony, and rarer still for him to disassociate the way he had in the past. 

“Hey,” Tony murmurs, leaning forward so his elbows press into his knees. He smiles warmly and jerks his chin, “C’mere and have a snack,” he says, “I missed you.”

All hesitation disappears from James’s demeanor and he’s across the room in an instant, falling to his knees so he can push between Tony’s legs and bury his face in Tony’s stomach. It only takes a moment for his surprise to pass and then Tony’s wrapping his arms around those broad shoulders he loves so much and planting kisses on James’s much longer hair. 

He can smell sweat on James’s skin from his physio appointment, and something bitter like fear—from his therapy session Tony guesses. The sessions have been intense since the beginning—not least because they usually triggered flashbacks or panic attacks or both. 

Tony aches for his lover, wishing he could be closer more often—but running SI and working with Steve to keep James’s company afloat too has kept him in the city more nights than not. At first it hadn’t been a problem because James had been confined to the medical wing, under constant supervision, but now that things have improved, he’s in the suite that used to be Tony’s when he was younger. 

He’d had it remodeled when James was still in recovery, repainting the walls a dark slate blue in the sitting room with accents of grey and splashes of gold--colors that remind him of James’s beautiful eyes and warm skin tone. 

The bedroom had received the largest overhaul--he’d gotten rid of the posters that hung on the walls, painted them a deep eggplant purple, and redone the hardwood floors in something dark and shiny. Fluffy rugs lie at the foot of the bed and beside the fireplace, and there’s more pillows on the bed than anyone actually needs, but from what he can tell, it’s served James well as a sanctuary. 

Now that James’s recovery is going so well, he’s begun making plans to spend more of his time here. With JARVIS’s abilities to link the house to the servers at SI, he won’t need to be in the office as frequently. His basement workshop has been calling his name for weeks now, but with all the travel and meetings he’s been responsible for, he hasn’t had the time to be there like he would want to. 

His fingers push through James’s long hair and the older man sighs softly, shoulders going limp as Tony massages his scalp gently. 

“Anna is making dinner, it should be ready in about half an hour,” he murmurs quietly, not wanting to break the moment. James nods minutely but doesn’t move and Tony watches the rise and fall of his spine as he breathes slowly. “Why don’t you come up here and lay down with me?” he suggests lightly, “I’ve missed you.”

There’s a long moment where he thinks James will deny him, and then he nods and pulls away, gives Tony a moment to recline back on the couch, thighs spreading so that when James climbs up and lays on top of him, he’s resting comfortably in the cradle of Tony’s hips.

James nuzzles into Tony’s throat, inhales deeply and then relaxes completely, body limp and heavy on top of Tony. It’s perfect--Tony feels warm and comfortable, secure. He pets James’s back, rubbing in wide circles for a long time, feeling the warmth grow between them till his lids are heavy and his hand is resting on the nape of James’s neck, thumb gently stroking the column of his throat. 

He’s pretty sure James is asleep when the door to the suite opens silently, and he smiles at Anna sleepily when she sets down a tray laden with their dinner, leaving the other he’d brought up earlier at his nod. She smiles soft and fond at them for a moment before backing out, maternal pride in her face that makes his throat a little tight. 

He doesn’t want to wake James, but he knows that the food will do wonders to help make James feel better after his day. He’s gentle when he rubs James’s back, calling his name softly till the older man shifts and makes a sleepy noise that makes Tony’s heart twist. 

“Dinner,” he murmurs, craning his neck down so he can kiss James’s hair. He smiles softly and nuzzles into it, “I think a bath after, hmm?” he suggests, pleased when James nods and squirms against him, stretching and yawning. 

His eyes are sleepy and grey like the sky after a storm, with tiny lines in his face from Tony’s shirt that Tony can’t help but reach out and touch. James’s eyes fall heavily, gaze sleepy and heated as he leans into the touch, lips parting on a sigh. 

Tony indulges in a kiss that he could deepen if he wanted—and he  _ does _ , he does want that, so badly that it’s almost a physical ache to pull back—but for now he knows James needs good food, a warm bath and a haircut. 

He holds James’s hand and tugs him to his feet, holds on as the larger man sways and grunts at the disorientation that seems to hit him, and gently guides him over to the small dining area nearby. 

The portions on their plates are substantially different—whatever was in the serum James had been given hadn’t just affected his mind, it had also changed his body chemistry.

The science team Tony discreetly put together hasn’t made much progress in replicating the serum, but for now Tony isn’t worried. Obadiah had property all around the world and he’s made sure that his people, James’s people really, have been first in the door every time to retrieve paper files, hard drives, and whatever else they can get their hands on. 

JARVIS too has been uploaded to the internet and sniffs out new Hydra locations daily, the information being shared in real time with the FBI. 

“How was your day?” James asks, sounding stiff and uncertain as he picks apart his chicken, gaze fixed firmly on his plate. 

“Mmm well I wrapped up a new telecom deal with India and Pakistan that will allow rural town consistent access to free internet. They should see a 300% increase in productivity, education for young women, and general welfare betterment in the next two years.” 

James hums and nods, but doesn’t look very captivated. Tony takes another bite and then asks very carefully, “I heard today was a rough one. Do you want to tell me about it?” 

James goes so still it’s like he’s frozen, and for a moment Tony sees the icy look in his eyes that sends a chill down his spine. 

_ The Winter Soldier _

James shakes his head and the tension breaks, and Tony realizes he’s been holding his breath when his lungs ache on his next inhale. 

“Mmkay, well Steve and I were talking, and he said he has someone he’d like to add to my security detail, did you hear anything about this kid?” 

James nods, “Yea, I’ve seen ‘im around base, tall skinny kid with messy brown hair and glasses,” he murmurs around a bite of chicken. 

“What do you think?”

James shrugs and Tony bites back a sigh—he's noticed this the other times he’s come to visit lately. He’s not sure whether James truly has nothing to say to him, or if he’s still healing and isn’t sure what to say, but Tony wishes he had the old James back.

He knows it’s not fair, that James will never be the man he used to be, so he doesn’t share these thoughts with anyone but JARVIS and Anna. 

“Seems like maybe he’s got talent. JARVIS showed me his test scores and physical performance results and he’s top in his class. You wanna meet him?” James finally asks. 

“Yea, Steve and Nat were going to have breakfast with us tomorrow morning, we thought it would be good to review the state of the company and the team. There’s been some changes and we think it’s time for you to be in the loop again.”

James’s brow furrows and he sets down his fork to stare at Tony. “Changes?” His bright icy eyes pin Tony in place, silently questioning. 

Tony swallows his food, nodding. “Yea, just some minor stuff to make things run smoothly while you’re recovering. They want your opinion on the class that’s ready for graduation—they have placements picked out for them, but they need your approval. Stuff like that,” he explains.

James studies him for a moment and then nods, looking away. “You shouldn’t have to get your hands dirty with stuff like that,” he murmurs, shoulders hunched up around his ears as he eats. 

Tony lets it lie—for now. 

Their conversation is stilted and broken, but each moment of eye contact Tony takes as progress. For the first two months James wouldn’t look at anyone, wouldn’t touch them, would shrink in on himself when touched, but now, with time, Tony can see he’s doing better. 

He motions for James to leave the food, “I’ll take care of it later,” he murmurs, standing and holding his hand out expectantly. When James just stares at it he smirks and wiggles his fingers, “C’mon babe, you need a bath,” he urges, doubt growing within him with each moment that passes wherein James doesn’t move. 

“Or...or I can go,” he offers with a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping a little, heart clenching at the thought that maybe James doesn’t want him here. “I...I don’t want to impose if you don’t want me here.”

“It’s your damn house, why would you leave?” James snaps and Tony’s hurt starts to bleed into anger. 

“Because I don’t want to be here if you don’t  _ want _ me here!” he snaps back, “if you don’t want me around, just  _ tell me _ so I can leave you alone in peace.”

James shoots to his feet, chair scraping loudly against the floor, “I didn’t say that did I?” he demands, eyes bright and angry. 

Tony heaves an exasperated sigh and grits his teeth, “Then tell me what you fucking  _ want _ ,” he hisses, teeth clenched so tightly it makes his jaw ache. 

James glares at him, eyes bright and snapping with energy—the most Tony’s seen out of him in weeks, in fact. “I want you to leave me the hell alone! You keep acting like I’m some robot you can fix by poking at it and I’m  _ not!  _ I’m broken and ain’t nobody gonna fix it!”

“Jesus, I’m not trying to  _ fix you _ I’m trying to fucking  _ be here  _ for you!” Tony shouts back, “why are you trying to push me away?” 

“Fuck you! You’re the one saying you’ll leave! So if you’re gonna go,  _ go! _ ” James shouts, gesturing at the door, brows furrowed tight and glare furious.

When Tony just stands there, James curses and takes a large, intimidating step forward and Tony steps back, instinctual and entirely unthinking, heart wrenching in his chest when he sees the shock and horror on James’s face at the action. 

“Are you—”

“No! I’m sorry I’m—”

“You’re  _ afraid of me! _ ”

“No,  _ no _ , I’m  _ not _ , I swear, please  _ wait! _ ”

But James doesn’t wait, he just strides away angrily, “Just go then, if I’m some fucking scary  _ monster _ ,” he snarls before slamming the bedroom door behind him,  _ hard _ . 

Tony flinches at the slam, the sound echoing through his memories—all the times his father had stormed and raged and  _ hurt _ Tony and his mother flashing before his eyes. 

He’s barely aware of his hands shaking as he stares at the remains of their beautiful dinner. 

How had this gone so  _ wrong _ ? 

“Tony?” 

When he looks up he’s surprised to find himself in one of the long corridors, even more surprised to see Steve and Natasha standing in front of him, in what look like matching pajama bottoms. 

_ Oh, right _ , there are accommodations here for the Avengers to use when needed. 

“Malen'kaya ptitsa what's wrong?” Natasha asks, stepping forward cautiously, movements slow and obvious and he can’t figure out why for a moment. She looks like she’s approaching an injured, wild animal.

  
  


_ Oh  _

She rests a hand gently on his shoulder and squeezes, “Are you well?” she asks softly, other hand coming up to pinch his chin between her fingers, turning his face this way and that to inspect him, dark eyes sharp. 

“Did he hurt you?”

_ What?  _

“No, no, he’d  _ never— _ ”

“He is recovering little iron man, he is not fully stable. He may not  _ mean _ to hurt you, but he could,” she murmurs, eyes sad and honest. 

Tony shakes his head again, firmer this time. “He didn’t and he wasn’t going to. We were arguing and he took a step toward me, his voice was raised and it just...it reminded me of…”

Recognition fills her eyes and she nods, not needing him to finish the sentence.

She surprises him with a kiss to his brow, “You will stay here with Steve, and  _ I _ will have a  _ word  _ with our white wolf,” she murmurs firmly. 

Before he can object, she’s climbing the stairs, leaving he and Steve to watch her go. 

“You want ice cream?” 

The non sequitur is enough to drag his attention back to the moment, and when he looks up at Steve, he finds the older man lifting a brow. 

“Ice cream?” he asks stupidly, brain still struggling to catch up. 

Steve nods, smirk growing on his lips, “You have quite the selection here,” he murmurs, “c’mon, let’s go find the weirdest combo we can,” he encourages. 

Which is how, ten minutes later he’s eating a bite of strawberry and butter pecan together and gagging, laughing as Steve makes a similar face at his rocky road and pistachio combination. 

Eventually they settle with coffee for Tony and Anna’s favorite—a vanilla ice cream with a ripple of salted caramel and brownie bites for Steve. 

The kitchen is quiet and dark, the only light in the room from the night light Anna keeps plugged in for any late night visitors. It’s cozy and warm—like a blanket wrapped around his shoulders after being out in the freezing rain. 

Tony and Steve sit shoulder to shoulder and there’s something reassuring about the weight of Steve’s body so close to his. It’s not a hug, but it makes him feel safe, protected. 

“I don’t think he wants me here,” Tony eventually murmurs, licking his spoon clean and then staring at his streaked and inverted reflection, like he’s looking at himself in a funhouse mirror.

“He does. He’s just…” 

Steve sighs heavily and takes another bite of ice cream. “He’s a stubborn jackass when he thinks he’s right or when he’s trying to protect someone he cares about.” 

Steve laughs wryly, “He’s just as bad as me,” he murmurs. “Half of the shit we got into as kids was cuz of me and the other half was Bucky. He’s an idiot sometimes, but Tony, he  _ cares  _ about you so much,” Steve murmurs urgently, blue eyes intent. 

“Then why is he trying to push me away?” Tony asks, hating how soft and childish his voice sounds. 

Steve sighs and steals a bite of Tony’s coffee ice cream. “Because he’s afraid of you leaving on your own. He thinks he’s not good enough for someone like you Tony.”

Tony’s brow furrows, “ _ What? _ That makes no sense! I’d do anything to stay with him, I lo—” his throat catches on the word and Steve’s face gains a knowing look that Tony hates him for a little bit. 

Steve nods, “Exactly. He doesn’t want you to give up your world and all the things that come with it for him. You’re society royalty Tony and he and I grew up poorer than poor—there’s almost no world in which he thinks he’s good enough for someone like you.”

“Well that’s just bull shit,” Tony snaps, stabbing at the tub of ice cream with his spoon. “Everyone from  _ my world  _ that I’ve ever known has been a selfish, self righteous asshole. The only good people in it were Anna and Edwin and my mother,” he tells Steve angrily. 

“I know,” Steve answers calmly, “but he doesn’t. He thinks you love that world. The shiny cars and the big penthouse and the designer drugs. He doesn’t know how to compete with that.”

Tony sighs tiredly and twirls his spoon. 

“He’s a fucking idiot.”

Steve hums and licks his spoon clean. 

“Yup. Now go tell  _ him _ that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian this chapter:  
> malen'kaya ptitsa little bird
> 
> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!!
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Let's Get it On by Marvin Gaye starts to play...*

James lays on the huge California king bed that Tony had bought for them and then never slept in and stares up at the ceiling, seething with anger and self loathing. 

Hearing Tony actually  _ leave  _ had ripped something inside him apart, left him shaking and screaming into the pillow while hot angry tears poured down his face. 

He’d always known Tony would go, taking James’s heart with him when he went, but he hadn’t thought it would hurt this badly. 

Christ, it hurts worse than being flogged by Rumlow, than being shot and tortured and fucking  _ unmade _ by Hydra. 

It’s the worst goddamn pain he’s ever felt. 

But Tony deserves better than him, than someone who would yell at him for just trying to help, someone who would hurt him if he stayed. 

The sound of the suite door opening makes him sit up. 

Is Tony actually stupid enough to come back? 

_ Maybe we can yell at him some more and scare him _ a vicious part of his brain hisses. 

The door flies open. 

“Ahh look, the white wolf hides in his den, licking his wounds,” Natasha taunts in Russian, arms crossing over her chest as she stares him down dryly. 

“Fuck you,” he snaps back, the Russian feeling clumsy on his tongue. She knows he’s not as good at it as her and Steve, especially not after what Hydra had done to his mind. She’s doing it to get a rise out of him, and as much as he loathes her for it, he also appreciates it. 

If he lashes out, he knows she can put him down. 

Maybe that’s what he needs—to be taken out before he hurts anyone else. 

Like a rabid fucking dog. 

“I don’t think Steve would appreciate that offer, but thank you,” she taunts. “Are you going to lay here all day and wallow in your idiocy?” 

He grabs a pillow and throws it at her, hissing in disappointment when she sways to the side and it goes sailing past without ever touching her. 

_ Fucking assassins  _ he thinks, pointedly ignoring the fact that he too was an assassin once upon a time. 

He was a lot of things, once upon a time. 

“Leave me alone Natalia,” he mutters, rolling on his side so he doesn’t have to look at her. 

“Not when you’re deliberately sabotaging a good thing Yasha, especially not when it’s Tony.”

“He left.”

“Because you scared him and told him he should go. If Steve had done the same I would have walked away too. He needs to calm down, you both do.”

“What does it matter? He’s better off without me, without  _ us.  _ He doesn’t come from this world Nat, why would he stay now that he doesn’t have any ties to us?”

Natasha scoffs and marches around the bed to stare him in the eyes. “You  _ idiot _ . He  _ gutted _ his family home and turned it into our new headquarters. He protected the Avengers from the FBI and has made sure we’ve been armed and funded to hunt down Hydra. He gave us a  _ home. _ ”

When he shakes his head she makes a low noise and steps forward, grabbing his shirt and yanking till he’s upright and a scent few inches from her face.

“You listen to me  _ now _ , James. That boy  _ loves  _ you,” she hisses, “he kept your people safe, killed for you,  _ bled _ for you. He made sure you had the best surgeons in the  _ world _ James, the best therapists, the best food and clothing. He has given you  _ everything _ he could to make sure you recovered—and he’s  _ still  _ trying to find a way to reverse what Hydra did to your mind.”

She shakes him and then lets go, giving him a look that’s filled with annoyance, “So maybe cut him some slack for needing to walk away and process the fact that you picked a fight, yelled at him, and tried to scare him into leaving you, yes?” 

He stares at her, stunned by her rough handling and the apparent anger with which it had been delivered. In all their years together, she’s never chewed him out like that.  _ Ever.  _

He nods numbly, trying to process her words. 

“Do you think he’s gone for good?” he asks softly, chest aching at the thought of Tony really being gone. 

Natasha lifts a brow, “Did you hear  _ anything  _ I just said?” she asks incredulously, “ _ no _ , he’s not gone for good.”

A soft buzzing noise breaks the tension between them. He watches as she checks her phone briefly before tucking it back into her pajamas. 

“He’s on his way back,” she tells him succinctly, “you’ll get your head out of your ass and  _ talk to him _ ,  **_yes?_ ** ” she asks pointedly. 

He nods and earns himself a smile. 

“Good,” she says with a sharp nod, softening slightly to lean down and kiss his cheek. “If you break his heart I’ll break you Yasha.”

Her whisper is cool and calculated and he has absolutely  _ no _ doubt she’s 100 percent serious. He nods and swallows nervously, flinching when she pats his cheek and laughs and his reaction. 

He hears the suite door open as she walks out of the bedroom and then soft voices before the door closes again. 

There’s a long moment where he thinks that maybe Tony has changed his mind and that he’s going to leave, this time for good, and then he hears footsteps approaching and his heart races. 

He turns and faces the door, swallowing hard when Tony walks back in looking exhausted and sad.  _ Christ, he’s _ the one who made Tony look like that, and that realization makes his heart hurt so fucking bad it chokes him. 

He starts to open his mouth to apologize and Tony shakes his head, cuts him off, “I need to go first, okay?” he murmurs, waiting for James’s silent nod before continuing.

He inhales deeply and smiles sadly, unevenly, “You  _ did  _ scare me,” he admits, “but only for a second. You know my dad hurt me and my mom—he also shouted and slammed doors and made it very clear that he was mad.” 

Tony laughs sadly, “My mom actually had reproductions done of all our art and sculptures and china because he broke it so often. Not that it did much good—he broke those too, and our bones if he was feeling particularly vicious.” 

James winces—he’d  _ known _ this, known that Howard had been a bastard who hurt his family and  _ still _ , he’d lost control and yelled at Tony and made like he was going to grab him, hurt him. 

He opens his mouth to try and apologize, but Tony shakes his head and holds up a hand, “I’m not done,” he cautions, so James swallows his words and nods, waiting to hear what else Tony has to say. 

“I need you to tell your therapist about tonight and be completely honest with her about what happened. I need to see my own therapist about it, but I also want us to see your therapist or mine or someone else entirely together so we can work through things together.”

James nods his assent vigorously; he can do that. 

Tony’s lips quirk into a ghost of a smile and it makes James  _ ache  _ to hold him. His fingers twitch against the rich velvet of the comforter and Tony’s gaze flickers down for a moment before coming back to his face. 

He looks serious again and James straightens his shoulders, meets his gaze openly, makes sure Tony knows he’s  _ listening _ . 

“You can’t try to intimidate me into leaving ever again. If you have a problem with something I’ve done or said, you have to tell me. If you need time to process your thoughts,  _ tell me _ . I can’t read your mind James.” 

James nods and fists the comforter, bones aching as he sits still, waiting till he can fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. 

“I’m not going to leave you, even if I’m mad. I might tell you I need some space, but I’ll always come back,  _ always,”  _ Tony murmurs urgently, taking a step closer till their knees are almost touching. 

“I want you in my life—you and Nat and Steve and all the other Avengers. You’re my  _ family _ ,” he whispers hoarsely, “so please stop trying to get me to leave. I know you’re scared, but so am I.”

James breaks at that and reaches out with a raw whisper of  _ please _ , holding his arms open till Tony nods and steps forward and he can finally wrap his arms around Tony’s slim waist. 

He can feel Tony shaking against him and he thinks maybe the younger man is crying, but then, he is too. He buries his face in Tony’s shirt and cries, shoulders shaking as he clings to Tony. 

Eventually his tears slow and he can feel Tony’s fingers raking through his greasy too long hair while he makes soft soothing sounds. They stay that way for a long time, till Tony scrapes his nails over James’s scalp and hums softly. 

“Still need that bath. A trim too,” he murmurs, “why don’t we do that?” he suggests, tugging lightly on James’s hair. 

James nods and shifts to press his chin into Tony’s belly, looking up at him through hazy, tired eyes. 

He looks beautiful, as always. 

Tony’s gaze softens and he leans down, kisses James softly, fingers twined through his hair holding him in place. James melts into the touch, chest hitching with unsteady breaths as Tony kisses him breathless. 

When Tony pulls away he rests his brow against James’s and just breathes for a moment, eyes closed. James stares at him, because he doesn’t want to miss a moment of Tony’s beautiful face. 

When those gorgeous brown eyes open again, James’s heart lurches at the loving look shining out of them. 

Tony smiles softly, “C’mon white wolf, let’s go trim that mane.”

James laughs for the first time in a long time and lets Tony pull him to his feet. 

“Wolves don’t have manes, that’s lions.”

“Whatever, just get in the bathroom so I can cut your hair.”

“Yes  _ sir.” _

“Ugh you’re the worst.”

James grins because he almost blurts out  _ love you too baby _ , but he knows, now isn’t the moment. 

Not yet anyway. 

He watches as Tony turns the taps on, the tub is so huge he thinks that it’ll probably take a half an hour to fill. Tony opens a stone jar and scoops out what looks like salt, except it’s black, and then sprinkles it in the water. It’s followed by a thick looking paste that’s grey, and then drops of oil. 

It’s the most indulgent and luxurious bath he’s ever  _ seen _ let alone partaken of. 

“Strip and then sit on the edge of the tub,” Tony instructs him, “I’m going to wash your hair and then we can cut it.”

James lifts a brow but nods, stripping down to his briefs before sitting on the edge of the tub, shoulders hunching forward to try and hide the scars on his skin that are still puckered and pink. 

There’s nothing good or beautiful about his body now, it’s all just a canvas of the pain he’s suffered. 

He startles at the touch to his face; he’d been lost in his thoughts and hadn’t noticed Tony standing over him. He looks up at Tony with wide surprised eyes and something in him quivers at the look in Tony’s eyes. 

“Hey, you with me?” Tony asks softly, thumb stroking gently over James’s cheekbone. He leans into the touch and nods, because even if he doesn’t like having this much skin exposed, the way Tony is looking at him is too good to pass up. 

Tony smiles and leans down for a kiss, short and sweet,  _ perfect.  _ “Ok, stay here while I grab a chair,” he instructs, dropping another kiss on James’s lips before he slips out of the bathroom and leaves James to sit while the tub fills slowly. 

The air grows warm and humid, the steam rising from the water heavily scented with juniper and grapefruit. He barely notices his body relaxing, only that the strain that’s been in his neck eases and his head feels warm and light. 

Tony comes back with a chair from their dining area and positions it at the sink before draping a towel over his shoulder and smiling at James. “So if you sit in the chair, I can wash your hair and then we can cut it.” 

James nods, still silent because words right now feel unnecessary and too troublesome to be bothered with. He sits and waits, eyes closed, shivering when Tony’s hand presses against his neck for a moment before slipping away. 

Tony must have undressed because his torso is bare from what James can see of it in his periphery, skin like burnished gold in the warm bathroom lighting. He wants to touch it, taste it, surround himself in Tony. 

“Ok I’m gonna pour water over your head, close your eyes,” Tony murmurs and James complies readily, listening to the splash of the water into the large sink, a soothing white noise that calms him further. 

Tony uses a hose attached to the sink and presses it close to his scalp until his hair is soaked, and then he hears a bottle uncap, smells more juniper and citrus when Tony starts scrubbing his hair. 

James groans at the sensation—Tony’s hands are strong and firm without being too much. He sinks into the touch, unable to stop his moans of delight as Tony scrubs and massages his scalp. 

His hair gets rinsed and then washed again, this time with something that feels silkier. Tony rinses that out too and then massages something that smells like a campfire and leaves into it before tapping his shoulder and gently murmuring for him to sit up. 

He’s lightheaded and blinking slowly when he opens his eyes, meeting Tony’s warm gaze and smiling back when his beloved angel smiles happily at him. Tony pats his face dry and then leans in for a kiss that’s sweet and tender and makes something squirm in his belly. 

“Ready for a cut?” Tony asks softly, “do you want it short like before or maybe a fade on the sides and longer on top?” 

He closes his eyes and thinks about it, mind fuzzy and slow. “Fade,” he decides, opening his eyes to find Tony smiling proudly at him. Something warm blooms in his chest at that look and he feels himself blushing, the burn of it growing when Tony runs his fingers over it and smirks. 

“Okay, and then we do a shave and have a bath,” he murmurs, tugging gently on the too long strands of James’s beard. 

He smiles and nods, but stays quiet. He listens as Tony sets everything up, shivers at the feel of the towel coming to rest around his shoulders. He hears the clippers buzz to life and inhales slowly, limbs loose and limp as Tony starts cutting. 

Time passes in drips and drops, the steady buzz of the clippers in his ear as strands of hair fall around his shoulders. Eventually it shuts off and Tony goes to work with the scissors, the snip snip rhythmic and soothing. 

It feels like the weight of the last six months is falling away with each strand of hair that flutters to the ground, like he’s shedding his skin and being reborn. 

When Tony is done he runs his fingers through James’s hair and then presses a kiss behind his ear. James shudders and tilts his neck in a silent offering, sighing when Tony hums and kisses him again. 

“Ready for your shave?” 

He nods and bites back a whine when Tony pulls away, quieting when Tony hushes him soothingly and kisses his cheek. 

He sits quietly and waits while Tony makes more preparations. The water filling the tub slows, more of a dribble than a gush now, and the light behind his eyes changes, flickering and pulsing. 

Tony’s feet pad softly against the floor and then he hears the sound of something being stirred rapidly, like cake batter being whipped. 

“Hold still baby,” Tony murmurs, even though James hasn’t once moved without being told. He does it anyway, and then feels smooth cream being brushed onto his face. 

He hears the familiar snick of a straight razor opening and swallows hard as Tony tilts his chin back and exposes his throat. 

It would be so easy like this, for Tony to slice him open and watch him bleed out. 

But he knows Tony would never do that, knows that there’s nowhere safer for him than here, under Tony’s touch. 

The rasp of the blade against his skin makes him shiver, unexpected heat blooming in his belly. Tony is slow and precise, methodical as he turns James’s face this way and that until his face is clean and naked. 

Tony wipes him down with a warm damp towel and then wraps it around his face, a warm wet kiss pressing to his forehead. “Stay there, I’m gonna clean up and get the bath ready,” Tony instructs him. 

He hums softly in agreement and lets the heat of the towel sink into his bones, the lovely warmth of it making him limp with pleasure. Distantly he notes that he’s hard in his briefs, but he doesn’t really feel a drive to do much about it. 

Instead, he listens as the water in the tub splashes and then stops. Tony moves around, sweeping up hair and washing out the sink, and then he’s taking the cloth from James’s face and kissing him. 

James moans into it happily, hand heavy as he lifts it and twines his fingers through Tony’s hair. He feels the younger man smiling against his lips before he pulls away and pecks one last kiss to his mouth. 

When he opens his eyes he finds that the overhead lights have been turned off and that the dozens of candles around the room have been lit. It’s sensual and romantic and it makes him quake, weak in the knees before he even tries to stand. 

“C’mon, let's get the rest of you clean,” Tony urges, helping James stand on shaky legs. He watches through heavily lidded eyes as Tony rolls his briefs down his hips, kneels and frees them from around his ankles and then guides him into the tub of steamy water. 

He groans; the water is perfect—warm and scented and thick from all the product Tony had poured into it. Rolling his head to the side, he watches as Tony strips off his own briefs and then climbs into the tub, moving swiftly to seat himself in James’s lap. 

His limbs feel limp and relaxed, but he winds his arms around Tony anyway, lids drooping so heavily he has to tilt his head back to peer up at Tony. 

The younger man smiles softly, fondly, and traces over the newly exposed lines of his face, his skin sensitive under Tony’s touch. He shivers but leans into it, lips opening around a soft sigh of pleasure.

“You look so handsome,” Tony murmurs, “all clean and fresh.” 

“Wasn’t before?” he teases lazily, lips quirking to the side. 

Tony rolls his eyes but grins, “Of course you were, but now you look…” he pauses, thinking, and then grins, “like the white wolf.” He leans in and kisses James, slow and deep, his tongue doing things that make James shiver. “Like you’d eat me alive,” he whispers, nipping at James’s lip.

James groans and tightens his hold on Tony’s slippery skin, fingers sliding against his hips. Whatever Tony’s done to the water has turned their skin to silk—it’s smooth and nearly frictionless as his hands slide up Tony’s back to pull him closer. 

“You want me to eat you baby?” he murmurs, voice low and rough, “I’ve been waiting to take a bite.”

Tony makes a strangled noise and kisses him harder, hips rocking down into James’s so he can feel how Tony is hard too. His heart throbs in his cock as they grind into each other, skin slick and soft. Tony’s lips press to his, muted moans falling from them as he kisses James sloppily. 

Tony’s hands cup the back of James’s neck, holding him close as they kiss and frot together, the gentle roll of the water around them creating tiny waves. When some of it splashes out onto the floor Tony chuckles and nudges his nose against James’s. 

“C’mon lets get clean and then we can fool around,” he encourages, laughing when James pouts at him. Tony moves out of his lap—something he’s not  _ at all _ pleased with, but he’s content to watch as Tony grabs a small stone pot and indicates for James to stand. 

He considers refusing, but only for a moment. When he stands water sluices off his skin and he has a moment of satisfaction at seeing Tony stare so avidly at his skin. “Just gonna stare all day baby?” he teases, smirking when Tony shoots him a  _ look _ . 

Tony scoops out something from the stone pot and then stands and starts scrubbing it into James’s skin. It’s rough and makes his skin twitch, but it smells amazing. 

Tony works it into his skin all over; shoulders, chest, thighs, over his back and ass, fingers pushing between his cheeks to scrub there too and he gasps at the sensation, legs shivering as Tony works his way down.

His hands fist at his sides as Tony’s gritty palm wraps around his cock, those beautiful dark eyes on his as Tony cleans him, the rough texture of it making him buck into the sensation. It’s rough and too much but so foreign that his body demands more, and he’s left panting softly when Tony’s hand continues on its path down his body. 

It goes on like that till Tony’s gotten everywhere—even between James’s toes. 

Tony wets a large sponge and begins wringing it out over James’s skin, washing away the substance that has buffed his skin and left it pinked and flushed. 

After that Tony adds soap of some kind to the sponge and washes him off again, just as thoroughly as before. James’s shining chest rises and falls deeply, slow steady breaths making his ribs expand and contract under Tony’s gaze. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Tony murmurs, slipping closer to press his lips against James’s throat, hand sliding around his hip. 

James hums but doesn’t say anything—he hasn’t felt beautiful or anything close to it in a long time, but here, in the warm candlelight, with Tony’s hands on him, he finally does. 

Tony mouths at his wet skin, fingers sliding over his lower back. He takes his time lazily kissing over James’s throat and jaw, alternating between sweet kisses and harsh sucking bites that make his knees quiver and thighs tremble. 

“You wanna help me get clean?” Tony asks, nose skimming up James’s throat, tongue flicking against his skin over and over again. James shivers and nods, hands falling from Tony’s hips as he steps back and grabs the skin buffing paste he’d used on James. 

James scoops some out and approaches cautiously, starting at Tony’s throat and working his way down steadily, watching the way his large hands so easily span Tony’s thin shoulders. 

He’s so breakable, so  _ fragile _ compared to James’s bulk. A surge of protectiveness fills him and he pauses his work to lean in and kiss Tony, hands gripping his hips just this side of too tightly. 

Tony makes a soft surprised sound but kisses him back eagerly. “What’s that for?” he asks, panting softly when James pulls back.

He doesn’t really have the words to respond—except, he _does_ , but he’s not sure now is the time to say _because_ _I love you_. 

Maybe it’s in his eyes, because Tony inhales sharply, eyes widening in surprise. His lips part, red and wet looking from James’s mouth and the heat that’s been simmering in his gut flares. 

He doesn’t say it, but he can damn well make sure Tony feels it in every touch and kiss. He kisses Tony again and then continues working the gritty paste into Tony’s skin. 

Tony shivers when he slides his hands back and grabs his ass, working it in two large palmfuls, watching as his pretty doe eyes go hot and fluttery. He works two fingers into the crease of his ass and slides them gently up and down, from his pretty hole on down to his balls. 

Tony writhes and pants in his arms, hips rolling back into the sensation in a silent plea for more. He smirks softly and withdraws, hands slipping back around to spread more of the paste into Tony’s belly and then down, where he’s hard and leaking. 

James strokes him slowly, a sharp grin on his lips as Tony whines and gasps, eyes wide at the too rough sensation on his sensitive skin. He quits after a half dozen strokes and crouches down to do Tony’s legs and feet before grabbing the sponge and washing him clean. 

He washes Tony with the same soap and then pulls him close and sinks back down into the steamy water, groaning softly at the heat on his aching and weary body. 

Tony sits in his lap while they trade lazy kisses, hands traveling over wet skin, hips rolling together without intent, not chasing release, just touching to  _ feel _ . 

The water eventually starts to go cool and when Tony shivers James taps his hip and jerks his chin to the side. “C’mon doll, let’s get outta here,” he urges gently. 

They’re both a little loose limbed and unsteady, but eventually they’re toweled off and dry. They blow out the candles and leave the tub to drain, the room plunging into darkness now that the flickering lights are gone. 

Tony’s hand finds his, pruny from the water, and leads him out to the bedroom. The air here is chillier, prickling at his skin. It’s refreshing after being wrapped in steamy scented air and he breathes deeply, feeling it like a rush to his senses. 

He’s pulled onto the bed after Tony, a soft chuckle passing his lips as they bump and jostle together inelegantly. Their kiss is messy but tender, and eventually he sinks into it with a happy sigh. 

Resting his weight on his forearms makes the scar tissue in his torso pull, but it’s barely even uncomfortable anymore, so he focuses instead on kissing Tony. Firm and golden thighs hitch up around his waist and he gasps softly as Tony’s cock slides against his. 

He finds a good rhythm, rolling his hips down into Tony’s, focusing his attention on Tony’s mouth and jaw and throat. He works red marks onto Tony’s skin, groaning at the sounds he makes under James’s touch. 

The sheets under them are cool and fresh—someone had changed them out this morning, and he’s grateful for it, because he’d never want to fu—make lo— _ have sex  _ with Tony on anything less than perfection. 

He works his way down Tony’s body slowly, determined to leave marks all over his skin, things Tony can look at when they’re apart and remember him by. 

Tony’s spine arches as James sucks on a nipple, his cry of pleasure sharp and shaking. Fingers curl into his freshly cut hair, tugging hard when he sucks on it again and then worries the hardened tip between his teeth. 

“ _ Ah! _ Oh  _ god _ that feels  _ good _ ,” Tony moans, hips shifting to search out friction, both of them moaning when James grinds his cock into Tony’s in retaliation. 

“Wanna make you feel so good,” James murmurs, kissing the nipple he’s been toying with before licking it and sucking marks into the tender skin around it. Tony gasps and moans, clutching at James’s hair as though it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. 

When he pulls back, Tony’s right nipple is starting to look bruised and puffy and he can’t help but pinch it and watch as Tony gasps and arches into it, cock dripping more pre cum onto his belly. 

“Lookin a little uneven baby, I better fix that huh?” he asks teasingly, grinning when Tony just moans and nods, body shivering under his touch. 

He switches over to the left side of Tony’s chest, staring at the contrast between his coppery skin against Tony’s gold, fascinated by the way his hands can span almost all the way around Tony’s torso. 

“Look how small you are,” he breathes reverently, “Christ baby, you’re so tiny.”

At that, Tony scowls and punches him in the arm, startling a laugh out of James.

“Not all of us can be built like brick shithouses  _ okay _ ?” Tony says unhappily, though his eyes sparkle with good humor, so James guesses it’s just a show. 

Leaning in, he kisses Tony sweetly, thumbs rubbing gently over his nipples so Tony gasps and arches. “Course baby, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just makes me wanna take care of you,” he admits, opening his eyes to meet Tony’s gaze. 

The younger man smiles faintly and brushes a lock of hair back from James’s face, “How about we take care of each other from here on out, hmm?” he asks softly, gaze piercing. 

Something about the way he says it makes James’s throat go thick and his eyes water with unexpected tears, so he nods furiously and leans in for a kiss. 

If Tony can tell he’s overcome, he doesn’t say anything, just holds James closer. 

The idea of that—of being wanted, it shakes him down to his core. 

The only people in his life that have loved him, truly loved him were his long dead mother, Steve, and his sister Rebecca. 

Everyone else had wanted something  _ from  _ him. 

The government wanted him to kill for them. 

Rumlow had wanted his soul.

Tony though, Tony just wants to take care of him, love him. 

“I need,” he gasps, unable time string words together as  _ need _ pounds through his veins. 

“What? What do you need babe?” Tony whispers back, hands sliding up and down his back, pressing him closer, pulling them together. 

“I need inside you, I  _ need _ you,” he finally manages to gasp between kisses, moaning when Tony nods urgently and cants his hips up, grinding their cocks together as they cling to each other almost desperately. 

It almost hurts to break away, but if he doesn’t they’ll just rut into each other till they come and while that’s not a  _ bad  _ thing, he desperately wants this with Tony. 

He fumbles into the bedside drawer and grabs a condom and lube, tosses them beside Tony’s hip and then sits back to stare for a moment at the angel between his legs. 

Tony’s hair is messy and dark against his flushed skin, cheeks pink and throat covered in his marks. His cock twitches against his belly at the sight of them, and he reaches out to cover Tony’s throat with his hand, presses his thumb into one and watches Tony squirm and moan. 

Tony grabs his hand and drags it up, presses a kiss to his palm and something frozen inside him shatters under the heat that blooms in his chest. 

“C’mon, get inside me baby,” Tony whispers, lips brushing against his calloused palm as he stares up at James with hooded eyes, want burning brightly in them. 

He nods jerkily and rips open the condom, peels it one carefully and then slicks himself up so it’s nearly dripping. He wets two fingers and presses into Tony, spreading them and then pulling out before going back with more lube dripping off his fingers. 

It takes a moment to line himself up and start to push in, his gaze flickering between Tony’s face and where he’s spreading around James’s cock and he’s not sure which is better—he’d very happily die right now and have either of them be his last sight on earth. 

He goes slow, watching as Tony moans and shifts under him, cock twitching against his belly, leaking steadily. His name falls from Tony’s lips softly, a whispered plea for  _ more _ . Curling forward, he adjusts Tony’s legs around his waist and holds him steady, bracing himself above Tony before he thrusts in fully, both of them crying out. 

“Fuck, baby,  _ god _ you’re so tight,” he gasps, heart thundering in his chest as he struggles not to move, letting Tony’s body flutter and pulse around him as it grows used to the intrusion. 

Tony’s nails dig into his back as he moans, already arching his back and rolling his hips to try and fuck himself on James’s cock. “C’mon, baby, I need it,” he gasps, nails dragging down to dig into James’s ass, pushing at him to move. 

“Christ doll, gonna be the death of me,” he gasps with a low laugh, leaning in for a kiss. Tony bites at his lip and rolls his hips and well, James can take a fucking hint. 

He goes slow, even though Tony is moaning for him to go  _ harder, faster _ . He wants to savor this—to burn this into his memory and keep it there till he dies. 

He focuses on the way Tony’s body feels around him—hot and tight, so tight it makes it hard to breathe. 

He lifts Tony’s lower half up onto his lap and shifts to sit on his knees, bending forward so he can lick and suck at the nipple he’d left unattended for far too long. 

Tony’s body spasms around his cock, his throaty cries filling the room as James fucks him in short powerful thrusts. Sweat beads on his brow and chest but he doesn’t relent, just pushes harder into Tony’s body and leaves more marks on his skin. 

Some deep irrational fear clutches at him that if he doesn’t leave his mark, if he doesn’t bruise and bite and stain Tony’s skin, then it isn’t real. 

When he pulls off Tony’s nipple with a wet pop, Tony whines and reaches for him, pulls him in for a desperately long kiss. His lungs ache but he doesn’t move, he stays right there, hips committed to a slow grind, his cock deep inside Tony. 

“Ah,  _ fuck _ , I wanna—” Tony licks his lips and pants heavily, “I wanna ride you,” he whispers. 

That’s just—

“ _ Yes,”  _ he pants, kissing Tony and nodding, “yea,  _ that _ , I want that,” he agrees, pulling away with a groan and rolling onto his back so Tony can do just that. 

Tony braces himself on James’s chest and slides down on his cock, slowly. James holds onto his hips tightly, not forcing him to move, just holding on, grounding them both in touch. 

Ecstasy fills Tony’s face—he shakes as he lowers himself fully, panting softly. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, whining softly, “so full like this,” he moans, hips rolling forward in tiny rolls. James groans at the feeling of Tony’s body clenching around him, of the tight heat clutching at him. 

He watches as Tony moves, lithe and sinuous, wheat gold skin glowing and shiny with sweat. Tony curls backwards, hands bracing on James’s shins and starts riding him, moans pitching louder as he finds the perfect angle. 

“Tou—Ah! T-touch me,  _ please _ ?” Tony cries out, “n-not fast, please, ju-just a little?” 

Christ James has never moved so fast in his life to do something that’s been asked of him. He grips Tony’s leaking cock and squeezes once before stroking nice and slow, in counter measure to Tony’s rolling hips. 

Each thrust makes Tony clench down on his cock, both of them crying out and moaning at the sensation. Tony sobs his name, breathing ragged as he bounces harder, voice growing pitchy and loud and James knows he must be close. 

“J-James! Ah! I nee—need you!” 

Tony sits upright and grabs at wherever he can on James, tugging ineffectually as he tries to ride him at the same time. He sobs in desperation and throws his head back, “ _ Please _ ,  **_James_ ** _! _ ”

He works himself up onto his elbows and hurries to sit up, hushing Tony, crooning praise as he kisses him, Tony’s mouth sloppy against James’s. Tony sobs and throws his arms around James’s neck, nails digging into his back. 

“My angel,” he gasps against James’s mouth, “mine.”

James groans and fucks up into Tony, holding him close, feeling it when Tony’s cock grinds into his belly wetly. His large hands span Tony’s hip and over his spine, their lips pressed together messily. 

“Fuck baby, I—”

It’s there, on the tip of his tongue and it  _ burns _ to be set free, but he’s so scared, so goddamn scared it  _ chokes _ him. He groans and kisses Tony again, cursing as Tony clings to him and meets his frantic thrusts with sloppy hip rolls of his own. 

“I—” Tony is gasping hugely, sobs falling from his lips with every one of James’s thrusts, and he can feel it rising like a tidal wave inside him, bashing against the dam he’s struggling to keep in place. 

“I’m gonna—”

He grips Tony’s hair tightly and tugs it so his head is angled back and James can meet his dazed eyes. 

“Tony, baby,” he calls, voice raw and low, waiting till Tony’s gaze focuses to speak again. “I love you.”

Tony’s eyes widen and then slam shut as he comes, unexpectedly, shouting James’s name and digging his nails into the tattoo on his back. 

The pressure on James’s cock grows so tight it makes him groan and bow forward, a sob wracking his chest as he pounds up into Tony, unable to stop himself from saying it again and again. 

_ I love you _

_ Tony I love you  _

_ Tony Tony Tony  _

Tony clings to him as they ride it out together, panting and moaning and in James’s case, crying. He didn’t realize it at first, but then the sobs of pleasure dissolved into sobs of joy and relief and sorrow and love and too many emotions for his body to handle. 

It only takes a moment for Tony to realize it and then his lean arms are around James’s neck, cradling his head against Tony’s throat and sternum. 

“Shhh, it’s ok baby, I’m right here,” Tony whispers, still breathing heavily. James can hear his heart pounding under his ear and it’s strong and steady and reassuring. He cries into the crook of Tony’s neck, the deluge of emotion from the day rocking him deeply. 

Tony holds onto him through it, petting his hair and rubbing his back, holding him like a child, keeping him safe. He never thought he’d feel safe like this again—never thought he’d find someone to love him like  _ this _ . 

Eventually he calms, wiping at his eyes and keeping his head ducked so Tony won’t see how red his eyes are from crying. He can’t hide though, because Tony pushes him back gently against the pillows and pulls off his soft cock with a grimace. 

Tony pulls off the condom and gives him a peck on the lips before hurrying to the bathroom. James heads the sink run and then Tony’s back with a warm wet cloth that Tony used to wipe him off with. 

“Be right back, I promise,” he murmurs, kissing James lightly, smiling reassuringly before disappearing into the living quarters of their suite. 

He comes back before James can even start to worry about him having left for good with a glass of water and a tray of fruit and snacks. 

Tony smiles brightly and climbs into bed, adjusting the sheets around them before handing James a glass of water with an order to drink. He drains it and is then handed a slice of apple that’s a little brown from oxidizing, and a healthy chunk of cheese. 

While he eats, he watches Tony. 

Watches Tony eat, sees how his jaw clenches. 

Watches him drink and admires how his throat is long and beautiful as it works. 

Watches Tony watching him, eyes bright and curious. 

“I love you too, you know.”

Tony says it so matter of factly that James almost misses it—almost doesn’t realize what was just said. 

“What?” he asks dumbly, hands going numb as he just stares, mind shrieking with white noise. 

Tony grins and leans in to kiss him. 

“I love you too.”

The words trickle in between the white noise slowly, and he runs them through his mind. 

_ Tony loves me  _

**_Tony_ ** _ loves me  _

_ Tony  _ **_loves_ ** _ me _

_ Tony loves  _ **_me_ **

Every way he emphasizes it, it sounds  _ right _ and good and something he’s hoped for for so long it makes his throat catch. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” he says dumbly, still staring at Tony. 

Tony grins and shakes his head, “Yea,  _ oh. _ ”

A smile starts to form on James’s lips, spreading slowly at first, and then wider all at once. 

Tony loves him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!!
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The end! I hope it's been enjoyable and everything you wanted from a mob au--I've had a blast writing it and sharing it, so i hope to hear from you in the comments what it is you liked about the story!!

James stares at the man in the mirror and barely recognizes himself. His hair is different, longer on top, and his face is clean shaven. His skin warms as he brushes his fingers against his smooth cheek, recalling how tender Tony had been last night. 

“C’mon babe, they’re gonna be here in five!”

With a grin that the man in the mirror copies, he adjusts his shirt and brushes his hair back before nodding and exiting the bathroom. 

Tony’s dressed casually—jeans and a science T-shirt with a too large cardigan that makes him look warm and soft and touchable. 

James swoops up behind him, catching him around the waist and kissing him on the neck as Tony laughs and squirms in his arms.

“James, baby, c’mon! Steve and Nat are gonna be here with the new guy for my security!”

He makes a snuffling growling noise and nips at Tony’s neck, “Smell good enough to eat baby,” he murmurs, placing an open mouthed kiss to the crook of Tony’s neck, right on one of the marks he left last night. 

Tony makes a choked noise and then laughs, “Ok big bad wolf, lets go before you get us in trouble with Nat.”

James grumbles, but allows Tony to make forward movement, even if he does keep his arms around him as they walk. They stumble, laughing the whole way, out to the sitting area where Steve and Nat are waiting. 

Steve is smiling widely at them and Nat has a pleased look on her face and it occurs to James just how rare those expressions have been on his friend’s faces lately. 

He thinks some of that has probably been because of him, but also their own grief and trauma after all they suffered together six months ago. 

There’s a huge spread on the coffee table that Anna must have left, including warmed peach and blueberry pie that James makes an immediate move towards. 

As they eat Tony, Steve and Nat explain to him the adjustments they’ve made in running both the White Wolf Group and the Avengers. 

“SHIELD?” he asks, “why would the government want our help?” he asks scathingly. 

Nat lifts a brow, “Agent Coulson seems genuine about wanting our assistance and intelligence so they can help take down Hydra. Apparently there were a few bad seeds in their organization as well and he’s looking to get justice for those who ended dead when Hydra tried to seize power.”

“When did that happen?”

“Two days after the facility.”

James nods slowly, he doesn’t remember hearing about it, but it feels familiar in a way. “What happened?”

Steve sighs softly and sips his coffee before answering. “When Stane and Rumlow were killed it activated some sort of protocol—Coulson called it Insight. It was a project designed to kill all those listed as threats against Hydra. Tony was at the top of that list, along with millions of other people around the world in key positions of power. Hydra was  _ never _ just a gang, they were a monster, looking to devour the world.” 

Natasha nods solemnly, “They were a stain upon this earth and we—your family—want to eliminate them.” She gazes steadily at James, and if he were a lesser man, he’d be terrified of that icy rage in her eyes. “We would be legitimate; contractors for SHIELD.”

When James looks to Steve, he sees his best friend smiling back at him. 

“You want this?” he asks, “revenge?”

Steve sighs and rubs at his jaw—clean shaven James notes, Natasha must have finally grown tired of the beard. “Justice Buck, not revenge.”

He hums and nods slowly, “We have the manpower to take on something like this?” he asks, glancing between the trio. 

Tony nods, “Hey JARVIS, please bring up the roster for White Wolf,” he says to the air, and a moment later a holographic display is hovering in the air, glowing softly. 

Tony shows him how to manipulate the data and then they’re flipping through personnel files and discussing roster placements and everything almost feels like normal. 

There’s a knock at the door and Tony makes a hand movement that sends the display away before calling out for whoever it is to come in. 

The doors open and a tall young man that’s leanly muscled walks in, smiling nervously at the group assembled. His large glasses make him look younger, his fine bone structure doing nothing to dissuade that assumption, but under that James sees sharp intelligence in his eyes and a wariness in his movements that speaks to spy training. 

“Tony, this is Peter Parker, the candidate we were telling you about for your security detail.”

Steve waves Peter over and Tony sits up straighter beside James, assessing the young man as he walks over, smiling nervously.

Tony extends a hand and smiles when Peter takes it. He sees Tony’s gaze flicker over the young man and then down to where their hands are still connected before something passes over Tony’s face that James doesn’t quite understand.

Tony sits back and stares at the young man intently, and James can feel the tension in the air, can see that Peter can too from the set of his shoulders and the right way his body is coiled.

“So, Peter, do you prefer that name or Spider?” Tony asks, voice low and angry. 

_ Spider? What the— _

And then he remembers. 

He’s in his feet before he even realizes what he’s going to do, reaching for Peter with a low growl in his throat, watching as the kid steps back quickly, eyes wide. 

Steve grabs his arm and pulls him back and before Peter can make a run for it, Natasha is there with a knife at his throat and a smile on her face. 

“You will sit,” she murmurs, “and explain. And if we do not like your answers I will make sure no one ever hears from you again, yes?” she explains, smirking when Peter nods furiously, eyes wide and scared. 

“Good. Then  _ sit,”  _ she orders, shoving him into a chair. 

“Now, why don’t you explain,” Steve murmurs, his normally low voice even deeper. 

The kid looks ready to shit his pants, James thinks with a smirk. 

“Uh, how did you know it was me?” Peter asks Tony, hands gripping his knees nervously. 

Tony leans forward and points to his wrist, “You should have gotten the tattoo somewhere else,” he advises and they all lean forward to inspect what it is Tony’s noticed and they’ve missed. 

Peter blushes and nods, holding out his wrist so they can all see the highly stylized spider that graces his wrist. “No one ever noticed it before because I usually wear a watch,” he explains. 

Tony nods and sits back, settles in against James’s side, “So, how did you get your info?” he asks nonchalantly, looking almost bored if you didn’t know him—but James does, even if his memories are still spotty and shaky. 

Peter fidgets for a moment and then goes about explaining how he’d created spider drones to infiltrate buildings, and how he’d used them to dig up info on the man who’d killed his uncle—surprise surprise, Rumlow.

Benjamin Parker had been trying to keep Hydra out of their neighborhood and had gotten executed for it. 

As he explains his inventions, James can feel Tony’s interest grow with each moment till finally he leans forward and grins. 

“Screw being on my security team, come work with me at SI, I need someone who thinks like you in my R&D department.”

Peter looks stunned for a moment and then grins widely. 

“Yea, okay,” he agrees, taking the hand that Tony offers. 

It’s more discussion of what to do about Hydra after that, and Tony emails his assistant Pepper to get hiring paperwork started for Peter and before they know it, it’s lunchtime.

After the others clear out of the room James finds himself with a lap full of shaking Tony. Tony’s arms wind around his shoulders, his face pressing into the crook of James’s neck as he breathes unsteadily.

Slowly, soothingly, he rubs over his back and starts to hum a tune he knows by heart, but has no idea where from. When Tony’s shivers slow he turns his chin and kisses his hair, just holding onto him tightly, keeping him safe. 

“You okay angel?” 

Tony nods and slips his fingers beneath the hem of James’s shirt, brushing over the ink on his skin. It seems like a thing Tony does for reassurance—seeking out James’s skin against his. It’s reassuring to James too, so he holds still and just breathes. 

“I love you,” he murmurs softly, kissing Tony’s hair again. “Love you so much baby.”

Tony shudders and sighs against him. “It was just a shock, finally meeting the person who started all this,” he explains. 

“Course it was angel, that reminder don’t come easy,” he murmurs. 

Tony nods and then pulls back, eyes red rimmed but happy. He pushes back James’s hair and then traces over his face, smiling softly. He kisses James sweetly and then sighs, “C’mon, we’ve got more to do today,” he murmurs as he pulls away and leaves James’s lap cold and empty. 

“Always do angel, always do,” he agrees, taking the hand Tony offers, letting him lead him out of the room. 

He’d follow Tony anywhere. 

* * *

There's been rumor of the return of the White Wolf for weeks on the streets, little more than whispers in the wind, but tonight, one man is about to learn the truth. 

When they’d found out that Alexander Pierce was one of the heads of Hydra and the man pulling the strings at SHIELD, Coulson had wanted to bring him in, put him on trial, make sure his name was known. 

So James knew he’d have to be faster. 

Natasha had offered to do it, and he thought about letting her, of sitting in the shadows and watching her use her knives to turn Pierce into a bloody mess. 

But then Tony and JARVIS had found that Pierce was Runlow’s handler, that he had been pulling the strings unseen in James’s life for  _ years.  _

So, now he sat in the shadows of the man’s opulent kitchen, waiting. 

He’s good at it, waiting. 

The US military had taken a boy and broken him into a man, put a killer in his head where a child had been and turned him loose on whoever they deemed a threat. 

And then  _ he  _ had been the threat because he refused to be a toy soldier in someone else’s wars. 

Pierce steps into the kitchen and pauses, staring at him for a long moment before smiling and going to the fridge to pour himself a glass of milk. 

“You want a glass?” he offers, like he doesn’t know why James is here. 

James says nothing, just taps a finger against the barrel of his Glock. 

Pierce’s gaze flicks to it for a moment, contemplating before he nods, “So, what can I do for you Soldier?” 

It grates on his mind to hear that name. 

Still, he says nothing. 

There’s something to be said about remaining still and quiet in the face of prey who thinks they are predator. It’s unnerving and James enjoys watching the emotions play over this old man’s face. 

They both know why he’s here, but only one of them is pretending that he won’t pull the trigger. 

“I suppose you’re here for revenge,” Pierce murmurs dryly, “I thought we would have trained the pettiness out of you Soldier.”

James leans forward until his face is split by shadow and light and watches Pierce freeze at the look in his eye. 

“They said you were dead,” Pierce murmurs, “After that unfortunate incident at the factory. I was told you were dead.”

James smiles then, sharp and dangerous, and lifts his gun. To his credit, Pierce doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. 

His hand is steady, gun pointed level at Pierce’s head. 

“The White Wolf never dies.”

The sharp retort of the gun fills the room, gunpowder in the air as he watches Pierce’s eyes go wide. 

As James stands, Pierce gurgles wetly, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. 

A lung shot.

“Ssssoldier,” Pierce rasps wetly, hand reaching out in what, supplication? 

He ignores it and watches as a monster bleed to death, feeling nothing more than satisfaction. 

“It wasn’t because of Rumlow, or what you did to me, made me do to those children,” he explains calmly, “it was for Tony.”

Pierce’s pupils expand and his breathing shudders to a stop. 

It’s quiet.

They’ve called him Winter Soldier, White Wolf, murderer, monster,  _ devil _ , but in the end it doesn’t matter. 

The devil always gets his due. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!!
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!


End file.
